


Winter's Kiss

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: & beyond, AU, D/s elements, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Faerie knight!Jordan, Faerie!Lydia, M/M, Multi, Season 4 AU, basically everyone really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 43
Words: 280,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Miss Lydia...what if someone suggested to you that you might not be who you thought you were?”</p><p>In which Lydia is more than she seems and things change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this basically started as two short drabbles and has since then ballooned, and ballooned.
> 
> This AU starts at "Muted" and will continue on from there, some of the change I've made will be minor, some will be massive, all will hopefully be good (relatively speaking). If I do not mention a scene assume it happened as canon.
> 
> As for pairings, the Marrish/ Pydian/ Pedan portions will be fairly slow build so you'll have to be patient for those.
> 
> And lastly THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU to [rantsofafangirl](http://rantsofafangirl.tumblr.com/) for betaing for me and just generally being awesome.

The girl, Lydia—he’d overheard, but Jordan’ll still ask her for it in a moment, hang up, takes a deep, but shaky breath, and starts to leave. Without thinking he reaches out and takes her wrist. “Wait.” She turns, deer-startled, and her pulse under his fingers turns into a stampede of hoof-beats. Humanity clings to her like cobwebs and he resists the urge to reach out and try to brush it away. “This was shocking for both of us, let me buy you some coffee.” He’s seen and dealt death, both in his search for this girl and in service of his queen, but that many bodies…there’s something senseless about that. It will be a start to easing her back into her own world.

Some of her poise returns, he wonders how glorious she’ll be in the throes of Winter, and she arches an eyebrow. “Why deputy? Shouldn’t you be taking me to the department for questioning?”

Oh she’s wonderful. He gives a rueful smile. “I think the sheriff already knows what you’re going to say, and half an hour won’t make much difference.” If Stilinski is more aware than Jordan thought him than maybe he can start being a little more honest with the man. Iron poisoning’s a horrible way to die and being stuck in a police cruiser for hours isn’t helping. Though today it brought him to her, the end of his quest.

"Alright." She gives a little gracious incline of her head. "Beacon Brewers should be hitting the end of the after school rush."

He smiles, and hopes the queen will allow him to stay and guard this girl, for he finds he _wants_ to stay. “I’m Erwann.” Speaking his real name is strange, he’s lived as Jordan Parrish for so long now that he doesn’t feel like Erwann anymore, but she deserves to have the truth of him. In a bit of chivalry he hopes she’ll keep allowing he raises her hand, turns it over, and kisses her pulse; breathing in her deathly-chilly scent.

Lydia looks a little stunned and his smile grows as he releases her. “Ly…Lydia.” She blinks then shakes her hand, as if it’s started to fall asleep. “I believe you promised me coffee deputy.”

Almost unwillingly his smile turns rueful again. “Of course Lydia.” 

— 

Beacon Brewers is just as empty as Lydia hoped it would be. Taking a steadying breath she strides towards the counter, resisting the urge to look behind her to see if the deputy, Erwann's far too personal at the moment, is following.

She quickly rattles off her order of a chai and lemon poppy seed scone to the barista, but before she can pull out her purse to pay—with the now typical grimace of distaste—the deputy speaks. “We're together and I've got the check.” Lydia turns, surprised to see the deputy isn't smiling like she'd dreaded; he gives her a little nod. “Maybe find somewhere for us to sit?”

Like that would be hard, the shop hasn't magically filled up since their arrival. Pride smarting, but grateful none the less, she goes to one of the more out of the way corners and settling in a comfy arm chair.

Deputy, she's pretty sure there's no really polite way to ask him his last name though she'll probably hear it at the station—and oh what fun _that_ will be—joins her shortly, carrying her scone and a chocolate cheesecake brownie.

“I wouldn't have guessed you were a sweets person.” She hopes he can't tell she's blushing, because she didn't mean to say that. Not that she's gleaned much, her usual instincts are near silent around him.

The smile he gives her as he hands her her scone is boyish and easygoing. “You and everyone at the station, though Stilinski's told me he's both relieved and annoyed that I've already cleared out the doughnuts by the time he goes around for seconds.”

Lydia can't help but laugh at that, Stiles, she's sure, would probably kiss this guy in thanks if he knew that. Breaking off a piece of her scone she bite it in half. The silence now between them is awkward in its comfortableness. They'd met what, an hour ago?, yet she feels like they've been acquaintances for far longer. Then again they _did_ discover a hoard of dead bodies together. Being perfectly honest with herself it frightens her, she hadn't even felt this way around Peter when he was tricking her with his younger self. 

The barista comes and drops off their drinks, giving her something else to fiddle with. Picking up her mug she relishes the warmth that seeps into her from it. Raising it to her face she feels a little braver, a barrier of sorts, and she finds she can speak again. “You scare me.” ...She hadn't meant to be _that_ brave.

Just barely she can see a twitch of the deputy's lips. He surprises her by not responding.

Now she really is blushing, how can she not be thinking before she speaks? “Sorry, I just...I don't like that I feel so comfortable around you.” Impulsively she sips her chai, grimacing when it scalds her tongue.      

Finally he speaks. “I'm sorry? Though most people would consider that a good thing. People tend to tell you more if they think they can trust you.” He sips his own iced drink, which looks about as sweet as his brownie; not that sweet is _bad_ , she just thinks you shouldn't consume that much sugar in one sitting, it's like watching a kid on Halloween. His expression turns a little more serious. “There's something you should know.”

Here they go, not even an hour in and they've gone through most of a relationship, with extra dead bodies just for kicks. “You're not a real deputy? You sparkle in the sun? Don't hold back deputy, give it to me straight.” Her tone is as biting as she can make it, she appreciates that he's being upfront, but she finds she could do without for a change.

She's not sure whether she should be offended or amused by the fact that he laughs, though he soon returns to serious. “Miss Lydia...what if someone suggested to you that you might not be who you thought you were?”

Which means _he's_ suggesting she isn't who she thinks she is. She sets her mug down a bit more forcefully than she'd wanted to, her drink nearly sloshing over the rim. “I'd say they must be mistaken. The people who raised me are my birth parents, my dad took _pictures_ of me _when they were at the hospital_. I’ll trust evidence over baseless claims from someone I barely know anyday.” She hopes he gets that they are _done_ with that conversation, she _likes_ him and doesn’t want it spoiled, not by something this...asinine. How is this her life that the claim she may be living a lie regarding her family is asinine?

For a few moments he looks like a fish, mouth opening and closing numerous times, like he wants to speak but isn't sure _what_ to say. Then he just closes his mouth and takes another sip of his drink. Internally she sighs in relief. She just wants something uncomplicated for a change, and finds that she's willing to be willfully ignorant to have it.

Which is just _wrong_ , she shouldn't want that at all. Willful ignorance gets you killed, especially in this town. With a soft sigh Lydia decides she's done with being nice. She needs something to distract her from the turmoil inside her. “What's your name?” Not truly rude, but definitely blunt, something she's never really enjoyed, it's just not as...fun.

He raises an eyebrow. “Erwann.”

Raising her mug back to her mouth she drinks to hide her annoyance. “Alright then, what's your last name?”

Carelessly he pops a chunk of brownie in his mouth. “Technically I don–”

“Don't talk with your mouth full!” She's sick and fucking tired of tête-a-têtes and just wants some straight answers for once. She's _not_ going to apologize for that outburst, he damn well deserved it for being so cagy and uncivilized.

Surprised his mouth snaps shut, he chews, then swallows. All the while an embarrassed flush creeps up his neck, almost absentmindedly she wonders how far down it goes. “A”—he clears his throat—“Apologies Miss Lydia. I don't have a last name.”

Which earns him an incredulous raised eyebrow. “Really? At the department you're just deputy no-name? You can't exist in modern society without a last name.”

He sips his drink as if to buy himself more time before finally, _finally_ giving her a straight answer. “The humans think I'm called Jordan Parrish. It's a...necessary chicanery.”

At last, something impersonal to call him. Don't think she missed the inclusion of 'humans' in that statement. Luckily they were alone, even the barista had abandoned her post at the counter. “So you're not human?”

Shock flickers across his face, before a rueful smile crosses his lips. “You got me.”

Contemptuously she arches an eyebrow. “No, really? All that keeping an open mind stuff was bullshit you were feeding me because?” She knows she's being rude, and she's been raise better than this, but she's also just so tired of being led around by the nose.

Once again he's the one flushing, though if she had to guess it's more anger than embarrassment this time, possibly. “It's true. I can't lie Lydia, even if I wanted to, but I _can_ hedge. I believe I'm pretty damn open minded about a lot of things. Like not always following police procedure with witnesses.”

She wonders if there's some sort of unspoken blushing war between them. She also finds she wants to scream, just to get some of this pressure off of her—not a banshee sort of scream she thinks, just a plain old one. There's just so much going on that she doesn't understand yet. She can comprehend being closed mouth about it, something seems to be targeting supernatural creatures and she'd be trying to fly under the radar too if she could.

“Then again, you're not human either.”

She's glad she hadn't been holding anything when he'd said that, otherwise she's sure she'd've dropped it. “What?”

“Lydia.” She likes the way he straight up says her name, even if he's clearly a little exasperated. “I know you can't lie either.”

That...how...she opens her mouth to tell him that he's wrong, but nothing comes out. “How...how do you know that?” It's something more recent than her banshee powers, sometime during the Nogitsune-fiasco she just found she couldn't speak lies anymore. She hates how vulnerable that question sounds.

He sighs and scoots forward, offering his hands palms up to her. “Because Lydia...like I was kind of trying to say before, you're not who you think you are.”

“Then who am I?” An open challenge, she knows if he believes it to be true he can speak it, but there has to be _something_ this belief is based on.

Parrish curls his fingers then opens them again, seemingly entreating her to take them, and she has to fight hard not to. “I think the baby girl in those pictures you mentioned earlier isn’t you. I think one day, a week or so after her birth, a faerie came across her while trying to hide you where you could never be found and made a changeling of her, and you took her place.” He gives a quick shake of his head. “It’s not like in the stories where you can tell your child isn’t yours because it looks like an old man or becomes ravening. Your parents were probably relieved you didn’t cry or fuss as much, even if you did seem to need more contact.”—“ _You were always a quiet baby.”_ —“Other than that your parents wouldn’t have noticed anything.”

Her heart’s been caught in a vise, that’s the only explanation for why it hurts the way it does. She wants to pick up her mug, or her scone, but she finds she isn't hungry anymore. Instead she stares at his hands, still laying there. Digging her nails into her palms so she doesn't do anything stupid she stands. “I want to go to the station now.” She finds she'd rather get her statement taken a dozen times than continue this conversation.

Parrish gives a little frown. “Alright.” He stands. “Don't worry it shouldn't take long.”

That's not what she's worried about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next week: Lydia deals with failure and an old friend reappears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coda for "The Benefactor".

Apparently what she has to be worried about is Scott _biting_ a freshman, being forced to throw a party at the lake house, then finding out the first part of the deadpool. And then failing, failing, _failing_.

Again she puts the needle at the start of the record, filling the room with strange almost-static. It’s not right. It's not whispering anymore, it's just so much noise. Maybe she should disassemble the stereo at her feet and cut the scanning wire, make it a ghost box; maybe that will be the right kind of sounds. Maybe that would bring the whispers back.

She can’t make herself move, caught in a loop of insanity with the record player.

Gently, how can they be gentle when she’s _failing_ _them?_ , Kira and Malia pull her away from the record player. Numbly and without resistance she lets them lead her downstairs and out, tucking her in the back seat like a child. It even feels like she's failed _Allison_ on top of the the horrible feeling of being mocked by this bastard using Allison's name as a key.

The drive back to Beacon Hills and her house is a blur, not that she cares. Ending eventually up in her room. Malia leaves right away, uncomfortable with Lydia’s apathy surely, but Kira lingers, fiddling with the hum of her jacket. “You’ll call if you need anything right Lydia?”

She nods, more to get rid of Kira than agreement, she doesn’t deserve concern. Finally she’s alone and Lydia slumps to the floor and stares at the wall across from her, she doesn't care. She doesn't know how long she sits like that, long enough that the light in her room changes, long enough that she feels hungry.

Hungry, sure but she doesn't want to eat, what she wants is...someone to talk to. She almost gets up and dials Peter, the paper with his number still sits on her vanity, but no. Someone...someone uninvolved. She drags herself upright and standing and sluggishly makes her way to the wine fridge and pulls out three bottles of cheap, but good rosé. She finds herself staring at them for a few moments like they hold the secrets of the universe. Can she even get drunk now? Well she's going to damn well find out today.

Thus resolved, though it only masks the tension inside her, she leaves and walks down the street to a familiar house. After a little bit of bottle juggling she manages to free a hand and knocks on the door, nerves of a different sort crashing into her full force as she waits for an answer. It’s been weeks since they last talked and she’s a horrible friend for ignoring him, even if it is in favor of trying to stop people from dying, because she knows exactly how that feels and she never wants to put anyone through that _ever_. That train of thought derails when the door opens.

Danny stands on the other side of the threshold, looking surprised to see her. He shouldn’t, there was a time when she’d spent most of her week here and she could just walk in whenever she wanted. Now, now she knocks. Yet another crushing disappointment in the life of Lydia Martin.

She takes a deep breath and decides to just be blunt about everything, maybe that will help mitigate her guilt, maybe it will make things more real for her. “What would you say if I told you I’m a faerie who was kidnapped at birth and raised by humans?” Roundaboutly blunt, she wasn’t _Stiles_ to just straight up say anything. It's the only way she can word it and _say_ it, because it still feels like half a lie to her.

For a moment the urge to drop the bottles in her hands, run back to the house, grab all the petty cash and _leave_ overtakes her. Just run away and never look back. There would still be assassins after her, she's worth twenty million and that's nothing to stick your nose up at.

A twitch of a smile appears on Danny’s face though, and it feels a little like the sun after a storm. “If you told me that I might tell you I’m basically Zuko, but with vastly superior social skills. Not really a prince either.”

The urge to laugh bubbles up inside her and she has to resist, she doesn't deserve to laugh. “I’m apparently a faerie who was kidnapped at birth and raised by humans.”

“I’m basically Zuko, but with vastly superior social skill, and not really a prince.”

The laughter escapes her, and she can’t describe the feeling that wells up in her when he joins in. She thinks it might be relief.

Mrs. Mahealani puts an end to their laughter. “Aren’t you going to invite Lydia in Danny?” She’s standing at the doorway to the kitchen, toddler Katie on her hip, managing to look vaguely disapproving.

Danny rolls his eyes while Lydia feels overcome with disappointment again. “Hey Lydia, you want to go up to my room, get drunk, and otherwise make poor life choices?” He leaves the door and starts up the stairs.

Another laugh manages to escape her though. “It's exactly what I hoped would happen.” Stepping in she closes the door behind her and follows Danny, managing a little wave. “Hi Mrs. Mahealani, hi Katie.”

“Dia! Dia!” Katie shrieks.

“Hello Lydia, do please try to restrain yourselves this time, and you’re welcome to dinner if you stay that long.” She turns her attention to her daughter. “Hush sweetheart.”

“No promises mom.” Danny calls down the stairs before closing his bedroom door behind them.

Though Lydia finds herself doubting they’ll _actually_ get drunk, apparently fae could stand a lot of alcohol from what she's managed to research in the little free time she's had in the past day. It wasn’t hard to suppose that fire powers would give you an accelerated metabolism.

His room hasn't changed much since the last time she saw it. Though there are possibly more cables sticking out of his computer tower, and she finds herself feeling almost uncomfortable standing in the middle of it. “If you show me I'll give you a bottle to yourself.” She wonders how low she's fallen that she's stooped to bribery with someone her age.

He huffs and gives her a look but dutifully snaps his fingers, a tiny tongue of red fire flaring above them. She wants to reach out and touch it but before she can he flicks his hand and the fire goes out. As promised she holds out a bottle of rosé for him

“Thanks.” He goes over to his desk, and rummages around a little before grabbing his bottle opener. The ‘pop’ of the cork, while actually not that loud, sounds like gunshot to her ears. He tosses the opener to her as he loads up some music on his laptop. Easily she catches it, only opening her bottle after making sure the third is tucked away in his mini-fridge. Kicking off her shoes she makes herself comfortable on the bed before taking a swig, oh the manner irony but she finds herself not giving a shit at all, of her wine.

Once the music’s at good background levels Danny joins her, taking a sip from his own bottle. “Spill.”

She almost makes a quip about spilling perfectly good wine, but holds it back. An hour, and half a bottle of wine, later she's crying and he knows everything that’s happened to her since that fateful Sadie Hawkins dance...well everything except Peter. “Parrish.” She won’t use his true name, she gets that’s a special thing, and not a ‘reconnecting with childhood friend’ thing. “Is really cute.” She doesn't mean for it to escape like that but the fact that someone's just listening has her feeling more emotionally shaky than usual, her failures at the lake house only compounding the issue.

“Then ask him out Dia, you’ve only got what? A month before your eighteenth? Unless you think he’ll say no.”

She shakes her head, first of all she doesn't feel like she's good enough for him and second...she takes another swig for courage. “He’s got this whole chivalrous knight aura around him, and he'd probably say no because of that.”

“Courtly love?”

A sigh escapes her and she lets herself lean against Danny relishing the physical comfort, she’s usually really good at figuring out boys and men but Parrish _still_ escapes her. “I don’t want to call it that. Makes me feel like I'm Guinevere and he's Lancelot and we know how shitty that turned out.”

Danny arches an eyebrow. “Please, for the love of God, tell me Jackson’s not Arthur in that metaphor.”

Some sound halfway between a laugh and a sob escapes her. “Fuck no! I don’t think there is an Arthur.” She thinks on it for a moment. “I totally have my own Mordred.” Stupid Peter. What's even more disturbing is the fact that that metaphor still works since Mordred and Guinevere had a... _thing_.

Melancholy overcomes her. “I don't want to talk about it anymore.” She lays her head on his shoulder and lets herself breath in his smell: Armani and, now that she focuses on it, smoke. Gives her the perfect topic change. “What about your fire deal? How come you never told anyone?” She could see how it might have come in handy a few times.

He shrugs. “It never came up?” She pinches his side and he chuckles. “Seriously though, we’re not supposed to talk about it. It’s the reason mom and dad relocated us here from Hawai’i though. Even if they haven't exactly explained all of that reason to me.” He shrugs again. “I’ll let my parents know you know though and you’ll notice a change.”

She gives a little burp, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Sorry, and alright.” She takes another drink, and even though she knows she’s not drunk she kinda feels like she is, which is exactly what she wants right now. “You wanna Skype Jackson?” She finds herself still missing him at odd moments, even though she would never be with him again if he came back.

She and Jackson haven’t Skyped, or even talked, since November when she Skyped him to tell him Allison had died. Lots of ugly crying had been involved and by the end they’d both been wrecks.

“It’s.” Danny glances at his clock. “After midnight over there, Jackson’s an early riser sure, but I don’t think he’d appreciate a one AM wakeup.”

Rolling her eyes she finishes off her bottle. “You and your stupid sense.”

Danny snorts and grabbing her bottle sets it and his aside. “You could stay the night? Wake up around midnight and chat with Jackson.”

“It’s a school night.” God, she doesn't want to go. She needs to pretend to be perfect even if she doesn't feel like it.

“Like that’s ever stopped us before.”

True. A yawn escapes her and she realizes she’s a little tired. “Wanna nap first, make decisions later.”

“Taskmistress.” Danny pulls her a little closer so they’re half-cuddling. “I’m glad you came over and tried to get me drunk.”

A near-silent laugh escapes her. “Thank you for listening to me.” She buries her face in his neck and and closes her eyes, gratefully letting sleep take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Peter Hale (need I say more?)
> 
> Come join your fellow shippers at [We Conquer Death](http://weconquerdeath.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Chapter 3

“You called Lydia?” Part of Jordan is glad, the rest just... _is._  Caught in that strange stillness that is Winter.

Stilinski looks nervous, like he's the one breaking the law, then again Jordan's pretty sure this isn't proper procedure. “Yeah.”

“Because Meredith asked for her, or because of the other thing?” It's as good a time as any to try and suss out what the sheriff knows already.

The other man's expression turns a little...annoyed. “What other thing?”

Well maybe he didn't know as much as Jordan hoped. “The psychic thing?” Which isn't what she is at all, but wording it as a question means he can still get it out.

“You think Lydia's psychic?” Stilinski looks like he's reached the end of his credulity rope.

Since Jordan-Erwann can't say 'yes' and saying 'no' might give too much away, he redirects. “Do you?”

Stilinski sighs. “No. I just think Lydia's just...more...spiritually aware.” He feels bad for the mortal, clearly toeing the line of normalcy and supernatural.

Erwann-Jordan's pretty sure he's dating himself, and in a not good way. “That's what a lot of psychics claimed to be able to do when Spiritualism started.”

“And I used to claim I was a rational human being.” The sheriff gestures at him. “Get your ass in here and shut the door.”

Jordan does, being the close to Lydia again is a good-strange. The familiar pull of her bloodline is back, and he finds he's been missing it since their last encounter just last week. Without thinking he finds himself moving closer to her.

Lydia holds out her phone and he watches as Meredith takes it. “Meredith aren't you going to answer it?”

Meredith shifts closer to the edge of the couch and Jordan finds himself tensing in case of attack. He can't lose Lydia, not when he's just found here. “It's not ringing.”

Lydia squats down and Jordan-Erwann has to hold his surprise back when a tendril of glamour leaks from her, does she even know what she's doing? “Meredith. You came to help me, remember?”

Meredith gives a tiny nod and a barely there smile. “You called me. I had to come.”

The thread of glamour flickers away. “I called you?” It hurts him that Lydia doesn't know what she's doing and he wishes he could steal her away right then and there. Take her to her own people.

“You called, and I heard you.”

He's not sure where this is going to go, but he should probably step in now. “Meredith, can I ask you a question?” _It never hurts to to be polite._ He kneels down so he and Lydia are level. Almost instantly Meredith straightens, putting herself 'above' them, and nods.

His glamour might be less...forceful than Lydia's, but it'll do. He only looses a bare filament of it though, he doesn't want to override the poor girl, only make her more receptive to answering truthfully. “When you need help is there anyone you reach out to?” He hopes Lydia's paying attention to what he's doing and understanding, she needs to learn control. “Maybe someone you call?” He'll admit that none of the other banshee's he's ever met, not that there've been many of them, have latched onto _phones_.

“It depends. Different people for different things.”

 _Good_. “Then maybe one of them can help us? Is there a number _we_ can call?” _Gentle, gentle_ , entrance her too much and things could go horribly wrong horribly fast.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us?”

Meredith's practically glowing. “Yes.”

Gently Lydia tugs her phone back.

“It's 2. 4. 3. 3. 6.” Meredith beams.

A heartbeat of silence then: “Mer. We need a few more numbers.” It's almost a shock to remember there are others here besides him, Lydia, and Meredith.

“No. That's the number.” Meredith sounds sure enough that Jordan isn't going to doubt her.

“Phone numbers have ten digits.” He _almost_ wants to turn and tell the shifter, shifters always move differently from other mortals, to be quiet.

“That's the number.”

“Meredith.” Lydia's voice cuts through everything, especially when backed by more glamour than is necessary. “Phone numbers _always_ have ten digits.”

Part of him wants to stop Lydia, it's not Meredith's fault she doesn't understand what she's doing. Lydia doesn't know what she's doing either, _why didn't I find you sooner?_ What would she be like if she hadn't been kidnapped, or if he had found her sooner? Would this all still be happening?

Meredith shakes her head. “That's the number.”

Which is when Stilinski steps in. “I think we're done here.”

Lydia stands, her glamour filling the room and making it heavy. “No. There has to be more.” She whirls back around to Meredith. “What's the rest of it Meredith? Concentrate!”

 _Now_ Erwann-Jordan has to act. Without thinking he throws out some of his own glamour to try and shatter her influence and doing more harm to Meredith. Too little, too late.

“That's the number. _That's the number._ ”

Stilinski, bless his soul, reaches out to try and comfort Meredith. “Alright sweetheart we–”

“ _That's the number!_ ”

 _Everyone_ recoils a little at that, and before Erwann-Jordan finds himself grabbing Lydia before she can do anything worse. Lydia freezes and Jordan releases her, going over to Meredith. “Come on Meredith, lets get you back to Eichen.”

Stilinski gives a deft nod and the three of them leave Lydia and the shifter girl alone. _Please don't do anything foolish Lydia._

—

She almost falls out of her seat when Er-Parrish opens the door and sticks his head in. Instinct has her yanking the computer screen down so he can't see it. “I...I wanted to see if you're both alright? Ask if you wanted a ride home.”

“I'm fine, we're fine. We can make our own ways home.” It comes out more snapishly than she'd intended, but she feels right now she can be a little snapish. Before now she's only half-thought, and mostly jokingly, about him apparently being a faerie, but now, somehow seeing his name on the deadpool makes it _real_.

It doesn't seem to bother him much thought and a faint smile twitches at his lips. “Alright. Let me know if you change your mind.”

She gives a tiny nod as he leaves. Once she's sure he's gone she lifts her screen back up, _Jordan Parrish_ sitting there almost like it's laughing at her. Not his true name, whoever the Benefactor is they know Parrish isn't human. Somehow _she_ knows, like someone whispered it to her, that they don't know _what_ he is. Otherwise she thinks his price would be higher, and she pities whichever assassin decides to take him.

It hadn't hurt as much to see Aiden's name staring back at her like it had with Allison. Despite their relationship he didn't mean much to her. She wonders what she's doing wrong to never have experienced a relationship like Allison had explained to her almost a year ago now. _That_ is what makes her ache.  _Allison I wish you were here_.

“You okay?” Malia's voice behind her makes her jump. “You smell off.”

“Sweetheart don't _do_ that.” Malia looks contrite when Lydia turns around.

“Sorry.”

Feeling a little bad for her Lydia sighs. “I'm just...stressed out.” Which is about as close to a lie as she can get. She rubs the bridge of her nose, after the day she's had she deserves a deep tissue massage, and a nice long bubble bath; maybe some tea and chocolate as well. Closing her laptop completely she stands. “Thanks for asking.” Part of her winces as a 'thank you' escapes her, for people it might mean nothing, but for fae it's a lot. “Now let's go, I don't think there's anything more we can do.” Not until she figures out the next cypher key anyways.

Dropping Malia off at home, which always feels a little strange because Lydia finds herself somehow always expecting Malia's home to be the loft, Lydia takes a deep breath and heads home herself. First things first, a wonderful smelling bath. Hope that nothing else comes up tonight, otherwise she's liable to do something horrible.

She'd half expected Peter to be waiting for her at her house, but he still manages to surprise her by actually doing it. A sigh leaves her as she walks past him to her front door and unlocks it. “You and Malia still aren't on the list, if that's what you're about to ask.”

Almost unnoticeably, but she notices because his _soul_ has been inside her head, he relaxes.

Lydia doesn't say anything when she realizes he's following her in. They've come to a truce—though cease-fire might be a more accurate term—of sorts since she went in Stiles' mind to free him. They snapped and sassed each other, but it doesn't feel as...deadly as before. In fact she likes how he keeps her on her toes better than almost everything else at the moment, him and Parrish.

“You seem tense Lydia.”

She arches an eyebrow as they head into the kitchen; absently she's glad her mom's away for the night. “Really Peter? I hadn't noticed.” Not being able to lie didn't cover sarcasm, hurrah.

A chuckle escapes him. “I could help you out if you'd like.”

Part of her stutters and stops at that. Because of _course_ he offers. She doesn't answer right away, instead focusing on making tea. Peter doesn't press her for an answer, just lets her think.

Their teas, she hadn't even thought before making him a cup—Assam—habit and manners taking the reins in her distracted state, have finished steeping by the time she answers. “Alright.” She knows the rest of the pack would call her crazy for trusting him like this, but she does. Like she knows he won't do anything she doesn't explicitly ask for.

He smiles as she sets his mug in front of him. “Take a seat then.”

Despite knowing he wouldn't hurt her, she still feels a little trepidation as she sits; even though it's far too warm she keeps her mug in her hands so she can hold onto something.

Faintly she hears him walk up behind her. His warm, almost too hot, hands set themselves on her shoulders. Then his thumbs begin to rub the base of her neck and...oh. Her head lolls as a happy quiet moan comes out of her mouth.

She can feel smugness radiate from him at the sound, but he doesn't let up on the neck rub. Eventually he moves from her neck to her shoulders. She doesn't even bother to hold back her sounds of pleasure as he leeches out more of the tension that's been dragging on her than she thought he could.

The end comes sooner than she would have liked. “I really needed that.” It's easier to not say 'thank you' to Peter than anyone else, their relationship just doesn't work like that.

 _Now_  he chuckles. “Anytime you'd like Lydia, it's my pleasure.”

Feeling a little boneless she sips her tea and just lets herself be.

He takes the seat next to hers, thoughtfully turning her seat so she faced him. “Hello.”

A huff of laughter erupts from her, making ripples in her tea. “Hi.” Despite everything that's happened between them, this strange peace she feels whenever he's around is just too nice to pass up.

“How was your day?” She totally needs mindnumbingly mundane at the moment.

“Same old, same old. Got angry at a fellow banshee, translated another third of the deadpool, had your daughter hang over me like an overeager puppy. You?”

Peter smirks. “The usual. Stopped a strange wolf from dying a horrible wolfsbane induced death. Wondered again where Derek thought we'd be getting the money to pay Braeden. Thinking up new ways to permanently kill Kate.”

She almost snorts out her tea at that. Silence falls between them as they both drink. If she could have more evenings like this she might actually get a good nights sleep in.

Like that she feels _tired_. With a sleepy sigh she sets her mug down, blinking when Peter picks it up and sets hers and his in the sink. Returning to her he scoops her up, eliciting a squawk of surprise, before carrying her up to her room.

Setting her down he starts to try and 'help' her undress, he gets as far as removing her cardigan when, with a roll of her eyes that feels disturbingly fond, she bats his hands away. “Really Peter?”

He grins. “Just being as helpful and soliciting as I can Lydia.” His grin turns leery. “Anyways, it's nothing I haven't seen before.”

A flush creeps across her at that. “Thank you for that reminder Peter.” She gestures for him to turn around, but he doesn't; instead his hands rise up again to play with the hem of her shirt.

“You know what I want Lydia, and what I think of you. Is either really so bad?”

Her flush remains, but for an altogether different reason. She's known he wanted her since that stupid spark-fire comment and knew that for her he would be more than willing to be unselfish. Though she doubts he’ll ever admit it verbally. It's something she knows would astound everyone else. Looking at him now something in her gives up the ghost. She damn well deserves something for herself, something unrelated to the pack, and Parrish and his talk of fae. _Hers._

“Take off your shirts, shoes, socks, and belt.”

The gleam in Peter's eyes as he does so somehow calms and reassures her, he'll let her have all the control she needs, as many times as she needs.

Reaching out she placed her hand on the part of his chest that was faintly discolored. Murmur-faint she catches echoes of pain and heat.

“It's where Derek had to burn the wolfsbane out of me.”

She doesn't glance up at his face, instead stepping closer. Sliding her hand to his hip to support herself, leans in, gently laying a kiss there. Soon she steps away and gives him a light push. “Lie down on the bed.”

He does, smugness returning to his face as he props himself up on his elbows. Deciding it isn't worth chastising him over she reaches down and slowly begins pulling up the hem of her shirt, giving him a little tease before removing it completely and tossing it aside, revealing her lacy sea-foam green bra.

Peters eyes darken noticeably. “Pretty.”

Her earlier flush returns as she steps out of her shoes, propping one leg against Peter's knees as she beings sliding down a stocking. Knowingly giving him a peepshow of her matching underwear. She divests herself of her second stocking faster than the first. She unzips her skirt even faster.

Uncaring of her almost-nudity she saunters over to Peter and crawls over him on the bed, settling down on the noticeable bulge of his pants. “My, what a big cock you have.” She knows it's something out a laughably bad porno, but she can't help herself.

Peter throws his head back and _laughs_. Almost unwillingly she finds herself rooted to the spot at the sound. She catches herself wondering when the last time he laughed like that was.

She jumps a little when his hands settle on her waist, their positions shifting as he sits completely upright. “Oh Lydia, you never cease to amaze.”

Then he kisses her. With reckless abandon she throws her entire self into that kiss. Subtly demanding he do the same, unwilling to accept anything less. He does. Fangs gently nipping at her lips, his tongue tangling and toying with hers, just hard enough. There's a moment of recoil when she realizes Peter's... _purring_? She soon returns; something to wonder about later.

Finally she pulls away, Peter tries to follow her forward but she pushes him back. “Lie down.” Obediently, and oh, isn't that a rush, he does. Leaning right she manages to pull open her bedside drawer and pulls out a condom.

With her free hand she starts undoing his pants while raising up to her knees so she can start tugging them down. Peter obliges her by canting his hips up. Her lips twitch when she sees he's wearing boxers—she likes them because they're easier to wear when you steal them—and the fact that they're tented.

She sets the condom on his chest before raking her nails down his stomach. “That's quite the problem you have there.”

Peter huffs. “I don't know if I'd call it a problem Lydia, maybe more of a miscommunication.” The hands on her hips yank her back down so he can grind into her.

Granted, it's very nice, but... “Peter,” she infuses her voice with about as much menace as she can muster. “If you're going to jump ahead then I'm going to have to do something about it.” Though she has no idea what except for denial—sure she has sex toys but nothing of the...punishing variety.

The warning is enough and he stops, loosening his grip but not letting go. She rises back up onto her knees and sets about divesting him of his boxers. Once they're gone she scoots back a little to admire the view as it were. He's not the biggest she's ever had, but he's not lacking; a little above average.

She scoops up the condom, with a brief side trip to pinch and pluck at his nipples, and opens it. Scooting back even further, nearly falling off the bed if she's not careful, she starts putting the condom on him. Leaning down so her mouth can follow the path of her hands. On the whole she's not a big fan of giving blowjobs, but she'll admit they're a fun way to put on condoms.

From the groan Peter's giving he probably agrees.

Once it's fully on she pulls away, shucks off her underwear and bra, then returns to her previous position. Leaning down again, though this time to kiss him, she positions herself and sinks down. Pulling away from his mouth to let loose a thin and reedy moan, oh she needed this.

Peter grunts, his hands once more tightening on her hips. Resting her own hands on his chest she swivels her hips and he _snarls_ , just barely she can feel his claws prickle her skin, eliciting another quiet moan from her.

A grin appears on his face and his claws dig in a little deeper. “I hope you let me take the reins next time sweetheart, because I know _exactly_ what I'd do to you.”

She clenches around him tightly, because _Jesus, fuck_ , she can't tell if that's a threat or not and that shouldn't be so hot. “I don't know Mr. Big Bad Wolf, I think you're all bluster.”

His eyes flash, his claws pierce her skin, and his hips jerk up; a gasp escapes her. “Why don't we find out?”

Even though she's still on top she's quickly losing control and as Peter slams up into her she finds she's fine with that.

Her orgasm comes to a surprise, ripping a whine from her throat. “Peter!”

His eyes flash again and he's sitting upright, swallowing the rest of her sounds in a kiss. His own orgasm happens soon after and they collapse back onto her bed in a tired heap. Lazily he begins nibbling on her neck, she giggles.

She doesn't know how long they both lay there, long past everything getting uncomfortable, before finally she rouses herself to shift. Lifting herself off Peter and letting herself collapse to the side of him. Sleep starts tugging at her and she closes her eyes as Peter gets up. She can hear him in her bathroom and she wonders if he's going to leave or stay. Previous experience says leave, but something else says stay.

So when he returns to her room she finds herself somehow half-asleep and yet hyper-aware of him. Hearing the rustle of clothes something in her gives a sad but expectant sigh. Only to soon be subverted when Peter scoops her up and she finds herself being tucked into the curve of him under her covers.

Warmth seeps into her, and she finds herself relaxing into it. She hasn't felt truly warm for a while now. All her dreams have been cold, full of things she thinks she should understand, yet doesn't. “Good night Lydia.” It's barely a puff against her ear. It feels like so much more.

She barely manages to mutter something that might be 'good night' before sleep claims her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you Pydia was coming first. *heheh*.
> 
> Next week: Lots of things involving Jordan, Meredith, and Peter.
> 
> Come join your fellow shippers at [We Conquer Death](http://weconquerdeath.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, this, so far, is the longest chapter.

Lydia’s alarm wakes he the next morning and she feels surprisingly...refreshed. Not 100% sure, but better than usual. A warm arm pulls her closer as her alarm gets cut off. Like that last night comes back and she finds herself blushing as she opens her eyes.

Peter’s own blue ones are staring down on her with more fondness than she thought he had. “Morning Lydia.”

Lydia blinks at him. “Morning.” She pushes herself upright, using her blankets to cover herself. Wrapping the blanket around her she stands and begins walking to her bathroom.

“Would you like me to stay? Or shall I go?” She turns back to see Peter lounging against her headboard looking for all the world like he belongs there.

“I...” _Him pushing her against the wall of her shower_. “I, I think you should go. I've got school.” She tries to hide her own disappointment.

Peter's expression never changes, but she senses he's not happy with her choice. “Alright.” He stands, and Lydia finds herself fighting not to look down. “You know how to reach me should you want to.” He walks over to her, leans down, and gives her a light kiss on the lips before pulling away and heading to his clothes.

She hurries into her bathroom to cover her surprise at his actions. By the time she gets out of the shower he's gone. There's a small sorrow in her chest at that, even though she's the one who said he should go. She brushes it aside in favor of getting dressed and made up.

Her phone rings before she steps out of her room; she gives an exasperated roll of her eyes when she sees Stiles' name on ID. “Morning.”

“Hey, want to be truants and skip school?” Only Stiles.

Mentally she debates, she's far enough ahead that she could miss a day or two, but actually doing it? “Why?”

Faintly she hears humming on the other end, then Stiles speaks covering it up. “I was thinking we could tell Parrish about him being a wanted man. It only seems fair, since, you know, we actually know him.”

He has a point, and she exhales gustily. “Fine. Be here in five minutes.”

—

Jordan blinks in surprise when Stiles and Lydia approach the front desk, because he's pretty sure the both of them should be in school. He puts his hand on Michaelson's shoulder. “I'll deal with them.”

Michaelson rolls his eyes. “Better you than me Parrish.”

Which he feels is a little unfair, from what he's heard about Stiles' exploits they've never seemed _that_ bad. Jordan puts on his best smile. “Hi, what can I help you with?” He won't tear into them about school, yet, for all he knows there's a really good reason for their skipping.

Stiles runs his heads through his hair. “Yeah, uh, we were hoping we could talk to my dad.”

Little alarm bells go off in Jordan's head. “Alright, follow me.” Stiles probably knows his way around the department, but hell if he's going to let them go around unescorted. “He's out, but he should be back in the hour. You gonna wait in his office?”

Lydia and Stiles glance around for a moment, before turning back to him. “Actually,” Stiles begins. Jordan knows this is going to be bad. “We wanted to talk to you.”

Finally Lydia speaks. “Privately.”

Jordan escorts them to the sheriff's office. “Alright what?” If they wanted to talk to him it's got to be important.

Stiles pulls out a folded piece of paper and holds it out to him.

He takes it and stares at it for a few moments, not really understanding it...then. “This is a hit list.” It's only half an accusation.

Stiles looks uncomfortable. “Yeah. We're calling it a deadpool. Recognize any of the names on it?”

“Yeah, your dad had me run most of them through the system last night, but nothing popped up.”

Stiles turns to Lydia, who looks tense. “Show him.” Dread settles further in Jordan's chest.

She reaches out and takes the paper from him, only to turn it over. Revealing gibberish and...

He stands and starts to pace because standing still isn't an option. “That's, that's...not good. What's the number?” He's pretty sure he already knows, but asking doesn't hurt.

Lydia looks about as discomforted as he feels. “That's how much you're worth.”

Jordan, and staring at his human name he _is_ Jordan wholly and completely, doesn't feel fear at seeing his name on a kill list...however... “I'm worth only five dollars?”

Stiles, too clever and sharp for his own good Stiles, shakes his head and holds his hand up fingers splayed. “Five million.”

...Oh. Even with inflation he's pretty sure that's more than the last time someone put a bounty on him. Now he feels a little worried. “I only make forty thousand a year,” when in doubt deadpan. “Maybe I should kill myself.” Again, wouldn't be the first time.

“Do you know why someone would want you dead?”

He has to squash the urge to kiss Lydia at her near perfect wording. “No.” He shakes his head. For the past decade he's been careful, he hasn't even been horribly wounded since...1990? Longer possibly.

He isn't even worried if someone _does_ manage to kill him, he'll just come back. He can still remember the fear of death in his first few years of growth, back when his queen would use almost any excuse to give someone a true death so they could be laid in the graveyard. Though he's grateful Violet's behind bars already, recovering from decapitation's the worst.

He's moved twice since he started his search for Lydia. Beacon Hills had been a whim at the time, though the sheer amount of power here had been a huge draw—enough to open a Way to the Mound if he knew how—even if it was a little...gray.

Stiles seems to deflate a little. “Alright.” He turns. “You coming Lydia?”

She meets Jordan's eyes. “In a moment.”

Stiles shrugs and leaves, through the window Jordan can see the boy head over to deputy Rodgers and start chatting with her.

“Are you alright?” Concern is an interesting thing on Lydia.

It's appreciated. “I'm fine. This isn't the first time someone's wanted me dead.” He decides to not try and elaborate further.

Lydia seems to brace herself for something, then speaks. “Look we didn't just come here to tell you you're on the deadpool.”

Oh, boy. “What else?”

She crosses her arms, fingers tapping out arhythms on her biceps. “We've been using cypher keys to translate the list. We don't have the last one for the final third. We need help.”

He stands up a little straighter, willing to help, but the earlier dread comes back. “From who?” He has to ask, even though he's sure he's not going to like the answer.

Lydia looks a little ashamed. “Meredith.”

He wants to help Lydia so much, because she means a lot to him, but when he signed up for this job—with much, much glamouring and falsified paperwork—he'd sword to serve and protect _everyone. H_ e's sure oaths taken hundreds of years ago supersede that, he has to draw the line somewhere.

Meredith is, despite her banshee powers, for all intents and purposes human and can't take the same abuse Lydia can. “No. The last time you saw her you almost gave her a nervous breakdown.” He walks to the door and opens it, hopefully signifying their discussion was over.

Lydia seems to be taking Stiles lessons. “Almost.”

Jordan sighs, knowing this is a horrible idea. Also knowing that Lydia, let alone Stiles, won't give up until this happens. “Fine.” Lydia brightens. “I get to pull the plug if I think you're going to far.”

Her shoulders slump a little and he's glad he's added that caveat, otherwise who knows what she'd get up to. “Fine.”

They collect Stiles, who grins as he realizes what they're doing, then file out to the cruiser. Jordan's not letting either out of his sight for any longer than necessary.

The ride to Eichen is subdued. He can hear Lydia and Stiles talking quietly but he doesn't want to listen in, so he focuses on the radio.

Once at Eichen house he approaches the orderly at the desk, giving him a little smile and a brief flare of glamour. “Hi. We'd like to talk to Meredith Walker, it's important.”

The orderly nods and grabs the ring of keys on the desk next to him. “If you all could sign in, then follow me.”

Jordan always forgets how claustrophobic Eichen is, pressing in and making you feel low. Not exactly the most conducive of places to heal minds in. Finally they reach the right room and he watches as the orderly tries to find the right key to opening Meredith's room. _Of course we have to deal with the forgetful one_.

The narrow hallway grows a little tense and Stiles speak. “Not him.”

Footsteps approach and soon he's being run into by Brunski. “What the hell is going on here?”

Brunski yanks the keys away from the orderly and Jordan almost feels bad for the other man. “What? We a bed and breakfast now? You don't open the door just because some idiot flashes a badge at you.”

The sudden image of Brunski being impaled on spikes—his brother-in-law's specialty—is much more enjoyable than it should be. “We need to talk to Meredith Walker, now. It pertains to a murder investigation.”

Brunski doesn't back down. “You, you can talk to her all you want _deputy._ Those two,” he points at Stiles and Lydia. “Especially _that_ one can't. No matter what you want.”

“They're witnesses in the investigation. I wouldn't have brought them with me if it weren't absolutely...” He has to hunt for the right word to make it truthful. “Crucial.” Out of the corner of his eye he can see Stiles grimacing and Lydia looking more uncomfortable by the second.

“Okay deputy.” Brunski steps into Jordan's personal space, trying to make _him_ uncomfortable. Jordan's half tempted to tell the poor mortal it's not going to work, he's met more frightening _grass_. “You bring me a court order, _then_ we can talk about letting those two bozos in. For a brief moment Jordan thinks that the glare Lydia sends Brunski will actually kill the man, which while making _this_ worlds easier won't fair them well in the long run, but it's only a glare.

Brunski's dismissing Jordan—stupid mortal never turn your back on the unknown—in favor of playing bruiser to Stiles. “As for you, _Mr._ Stilinski. Why don't you come back with him, with payment in full.” Stiles flinches and Brunski pounces. “That's right, your daddy might be sheriff, but he's still late on paying the bills. I'd hate to see what happens when something like that goes public. Those government jobs aren't as stable as you might think.”

 _Not even crows would peck your eyes out, bastard_. “They do come in handy when you need a favor.” Brunski turns to him and Jordan has to hold back his vicious smile. _Gotcha_. “Like how Eureka PD helped you get home when you blew over .1 on a breathalyzer last month.”

Stiles goes from defeated to smug in less than a second.

Brunski's all smiles after that. “Alright.” The hand holding the keys smacks into Stiles shoulder. “I've nothing against a little quid pro quo. Take all the time you need. Just make sure to lock up on your way out.”

As Brunski walks down the hall Jordan takes the keys from Stiles, who slaps him on the shoulder. Jordan has to pretend to stumble a little. “I like you.” Which doesn't mean much to Jordan, though it is accompanied by a twitch of a smile from Lydia. “We're keeping you.”

Jordan has to bite back a ' _no_ you _won't_ ' as he selects the right key, ' _but Lydia might_.' The urge to forswear his queen and swear to Lydia is stronger than he thought it would be, and he's not sure if that's good or bad. He opens the door. They look in to see Meredith already facing the door, waiting for them. “You're a little late.”

Stiles just saunters in like there's nothing strange about being expected by a girl in an asylum, but Lydia's a little more hesitant. Yet she's the one who speaks first. “Hi Meredith. We need your help.”

Meredith shivers a little and shakes her head. “I can't...I can't tell you.”

Lydia and Stiles take the unoccupied bed across from Meredith while Jordan stays by the door, feeling a little like a bouncer. “What do you mean Meredith?” The concern in Lydia's voice is reassuring to Jordan.

“Yeah.” Stiles' hands start moving as if to emphasize his words. “Tell us the third key, in words, numbers, Morse code. Whatever you want.”

“I can't.” Meredith sounds forlorn enough that for a moment Jordan wants to wrap her up and take her somewhere where they'll really look after her.

“Then why did you give us the second key?” Lydia's starting to sound frustrated again.

Meredith hunches in on herself a little. “I wanted to help. I...I just wanted to help.”

“That's great, and we really appreciated it. We need you to help again, alright?” Impatience creeps into Lydia voice. “Just give us the third cypher key.”

Eyes darting, looking everywhere but at the three of them Meredith wrings her hands together. “I, can't. Things are different now. I can't.”

“Why not?” Now Stiles sounds impatient too.

Deciding that's enough of that Jordan speaks. “Guys, take a few breaths, go easy on her.” At least they look a little chastised.

“I'm sorry.” Meredith stares at her hands now. “I, can't. He...he doesn't want me to.” The gaze she gives Stiles and Lydia is imploring, and Jordan finds himself bracing for the worst.

“He?” Jordan can't tell if Stiles is talking to himself or to the room. “Who's he?”

If Jordan found himself wondering about Stiles' question, Lydia's is as clear as water. “Meredith, who doesn't want you to tell us the third cypher key?” A little burst of glamour accompanies the question and Jordan hopes they don't get a repeat of yesterday.

Meredith gives. “The Benefactor.”

Stiles and Lydia perk up at that. “Good. Progress. Can you give us a name?” Stiles' fingers clench and unclench his jeans.

“No, he'll get mad, he'll...”

Standing Lydia crosses her arms. “Please Meredith. Give us the name and we'll go.”

Even that doesn't sway Meredith. “No.”

Lydia starts pacing, which Jordan thinks is better than directing all her frustration at Meredith. “Tell us his name.”

Once again Meredith shakes her head.

Now Stiles is the one ganging up on her. “Okay, you're shaking your head. Does that mean you don't know his name or you're not gonna tell us?” Jordan seriously hopes it's former, because then they can leave this poor girl be.

“I can't, I can't, I can't help anymore.” Meredith's starting to sound panicky and for the umpteenth time Jordan-Erwann finds himself tensing and preparing for everything to explode.

Lydia turns on Meredith. “How do you know about him?” More glamour creeps into Lydia's voice, an insistent press against Meredith. Meredith trembles under it.

This is enough. Jordan-Erwann takes a step towards her. “Lydia, Stiles. You _need_ to _stop_.”

“Meredith.” Lydia seems set on ignoring him. “A _lot_ of people are going to die if you don't tell us.” Even more glamour, filling up the room like it did last night.

Meredith's crumbling beneath it. “I can't...I don't...”

Even Stiles is looking a little worried.

Erwann-Jordan takes a step closer, hoping he can still reach Meredith. “Meredith, it's alright.” He's hesitant to use glamour when she's already under so much pressure, even if it might help. “You're gonna be okay.”

Meredith's really agitated now, her hands fluttering as she keeps repeating. “I can't...I don't...”

Another step. “Meredith.”

Too late. “I...I don't _know!_ ”

Lydia recoils into Stiles, her hand flying up to cover her ear. In the ensuing silence Erwann sees blood dripping from said ear.

For a brief moment the urge to hurt Meredith is a sun in his chest, and he has to think _very_ cold thoughts to stop himself from walking up to her and do something he'll regret later. She _didn't mean to_ hurt Lydia, the poor mortal girl just wants peace. In lieu of hurting Meredith he can make Lydia safe. “Let's go. It's clear she doesn't know anything more.” Stiles doesn't seem happy about it, but Lydia takes Jordan's hand and lets him lead her out. “Are you alright Lydia?”

When she looks at him he has to resist the desire to shiver. Lydia isn't all there at the moment and _blight_ he wants to find a way to pull her back.

Then Stiles is there taking her from him, _mustn't hurt Stiles either_ , and ushering her out.

Jordan-Erwann follows, his own mind tangling. He knows Lydia believes him now, but she needs to ask _questions._  He can teach her how to use her powers without something like this happening. Or maybe he just needs to sit her down when they're not worrying about their lives and _talk_ to her, but he hopes she asks first.

Silently they get into Jordan's cruiser. Silently they drive back to the department. Silently—he wants to speak but the words keep getting caught up in his throat—he watches as Stiles guides Lydia back to his Jeep and they leave.

Jordan goes back into the station and wishes he could drink on the job.

—

“What's the common thread? Allison and Aiden are both dead.”

Lydia resists the urge to throw her computer across the room, she can't afford a new one. “We've already tried every dead person we knew. If you hadn't noticed, there were a lot.” She's certain that statistically they're outliers when it comes to people near them who have died.

“I know, it's just...” She can see Stiles pacing in the corner of her eye, sees it when he turns to her. “You okay?”

 _God_ , why don't people ask her that more often? “Meredith's the only other banshee I've ever met.” Her hands curl and she can feel her nails dig into her palms. “I think I drove her into insanity.” She feels more guilty about not feeling guilty about that then she feels guilty about that.

Stiles steps closer. “Lydia.” Closer. “It wasn't your fault.”

She wants to slam that so intelligent yet stupid head of his into his crime board. _Of fucking course_ , it's her fault. If she hadn't asked Meredith any of those questions Meredith wouldn't have freaked out like she did. Parrish being there is perhaps the only reason things aren't worse.

“I was there too.” Yeah, sure, but he wasn't a fae-banshee who didn't know the first thing about herself. “You're probably not the only...” He drifts off.

She almost asks him what's wrong, but he starts off on a new thought first. “Hold on. Banshee's _predict_ death, right?” He doesn't give her a chance to answer. “What if the key isn't someone who's died yet...”

“...but will soon.” Dread and euphoria make her stomach queasy. She takes a few breaths and closes her eyes as she feels Stiles stand behind her. Keeping her eyes closed she moves her hands over the keyboard letting them hover. The only sounds in the room are Stiles' breathing and the hum of her laptop's fan. At first. Soon the almost-whispering returns, and even though she has no idea what any of the voices are saying she lets her fingers start typing. Trusting that subconsciously she knows what to do.

When she finally opens her eyes again the third key sits in the password box, accusingly. _Derek_. She hits enter and the last of the pool decodes. Her eyes skim down the list and... “Call Parrish.” It rings like a bell in her throat. “We need to call Parrish.” Maybe she should get his number herself so she doesn't have to go through someone like Stiles to talk to him.

Stiles doesn't know Parrish's private number, but he does give her his extension at the sheriff's department. The phone rings a few times before he answers. “This is deputy Jordan Parrish, how can I help you?”

“Parrish, it's Lydia.” For a second her nails dig into her arm from nerves. “Look there's something we need to tell you about Meredith.”

Silence on the other end of the line. “Er–Parrish?” Nearly speaking his true name is a fluttering shock, why now?

“Lydia...Meredith's dead.”

Her heart turns rocky. “What? What do you mean dead?” Are they already too late?

Parrish sighs. “The orderlies at Eichen found her an hour ago in her room, she hanged herself.” Somehow that's even worse than being too late. “I'm sorry.” Those words of his feel like a lie, but they can't be because he spoke them. Hands shaking she hangs up and drops her phone like it's suddenly burst into flames. It's...it's too much. She feels grateful when Stiles pulls her into a hug.

She just needs someone to hold her with no expectations right now.

Stiles lets her leave, she knows he's worried but there's such a thing as taking platonic comfort too far. She only gets as far as her car, before she has to stop and just breath. Only for a second, shakily her hands pick up her phone typing in a number.

As the phone rings she wonders if she should be doing this, she knows Peter's thoughts are confused when it comes to Malia, he isn't anything to her which Lydia's come to realize unsettles him. She kind of promised without promising.

“Lydia, my night's just gotten better.”

In a moment it's going to get worse. “Malia's on the list.”

Her ear fills with the dial tone. Worried she calls him back, but he doesn't answer. Tossing her phone onto the passenger seat she grips her steering wheel so hard her hands hurt. She will _not_ cry.

She...she needs to leave or Stiles is liable to come out and ask why she's still in his driveway. She'll start crying if he does. With a ragged deep breath she starts her car and pulls out. Resisting the habit to just drive home she turns down random streets and deliberately gets lost.

 _Stop!_ A voice shouts in her mind. Her foot steps on the brake before that she even registers that the voice is not her own. She sits there, in the middle of the road in a residential area she doesn't think she's ever been in before at, she glances at her dashboard clock, 8 PM. Why the fuck is she here?

Almost dreading what she'll find she gets out of her car and looks around. Nothing. The street's about as generic boring Americana as any other street. All but one of the houses have their porch lights on, the house that doesn't has lights shining faintly through curtains. _There_ , now it's whisper-soft, but again a voice not her own.

She desperately wishes Banshee powers had off switches, or just switches in general. She goes up to the house and tentatively knocks. Faintly she hears someone moving around, then the door opens.

There stands Parrish, Jordan, Erwann. Concern fills his face when he realizes its her, and fuck.

Lydia starts crying.

Warm arms pull her into an embrace and she buries her face in his shirt, greedily inhaling the smells of leather, fabric softener, and something cold and chilly that's somehow the most comforting of all. One arm stays around her waist, while the other shifts up a little so his hand can rub circles on her back. “Hey, it's okay. What's wrong?”

The most horrible sounding laugh leaves her, saying everything's okay _then_ asking someone what's wrong is...wrong. Anyways, she can't find it in her to talk just yet, instead letting herself cling to him and just let all her pain and sadness out. For the past few days it's felt like everyone's been counting on her to decode the deadpool and even though they've got all of it now the crushing weight of expectation still hasn't left her. She feels herself being moved, but can't find it in her to care anymore than that.

Like she's been wrapped in layers of cotton, she hears Jordan mutter something. Then clear as day. “Do what you have to do Lydia. Let it out.”

Then the floodgates really do open. Or to be more accurate, the screamgates. Scream after scream after scream tear their way out of her throat; not banshee screams, just plain old screams of sadness? Anger? Whatever emotion's behind them she lets out so many that she fears she won't be able to talk tomorrow. It's just not fucking fair. The only other banshee Lydia's ever known is _dead_ now. She's alone again, and so _lost_. She wants to understand herself so badly, wants to understand this power she has.

Eventually the screams end, but then the words come. Everything comes spilling out, even Peter and her's relationship—something she'd sworn never to tell anyone, let alone an officer of the law. When she finishes she feels washed out, her flood of emotion's passed and she's now left dealing with the aftermath. Unwillingly, because not even fucking Peter has brought her this sort of catharsis, she pulls away from Erwann. Wiping her tears away with her sweater sleeve.

“Here.” Blinking she stares at the handkerchief he's offering her before taking it. She hasn't cried like that since Allison. She wonders how much of a mess she is this time.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to do that.” It's true, she'd been allowed to ugly cry with Jackson because he'd been crying too—with the unspoken agreement between them to never talk about it again. Before then it'd been Stiles, who'd had the decency to lie.

Erwann's smile is small, yes, but real. “I don't mind at all Lydia, I'd like to think it means you trust me.”

She does, though it surprises her to realize it. Without thinking she leans in and kisses him. She's not sure what she means by it, if she means anything at all, but it feels right.

Just as quickly he's gone, somehow now on the other side of the room. “Do you want something to drink?” He asks so politely that something in her crumbles and she finds herself slumping into the couch she's sitting on.

“Hot water and honey.” Her voice is more cracked and raw than it was before and she's dreading tomorrow like no...tomorrow. She hears him moving around in the kitchen and as she debates the merits of just vanishing now and saving herself further heartbreak she looks around.

She's in his living room, it's sparsely decorated, with little to no personal touches. She finds herself wondering what those personal touches would be as she stands. Wrapping her arms around herself to try and ward off her inner chill she quietly makes her way to the front door. Impulse has her flicking on his porch light as she opens the door. Stepping out onto his porch she's embarrassed to realize her car's still in the middle of the road and she hopes no one's called the sheriff about it. Slowly she closes the door behind her. Then before she can change her mind she races to her car.

Music floods through her speakers as she turns the car on and with more force than she needs she turns her radio off. In the silence she manages hears a door open.

Foolishly she looks over to Jordan's house, the moment she sees him standing in that pool of light she jerks her gaze away. She'll start crying again if she looks at him any longer. Putting her car in gear she pushes the gas and tears down the street, uncaring if she gets in trouble for speeding or whatever.

She needs to get home and reconstruct the walls around her heart. Liking Erwann too much is a mistake.

—

Jordan-Erwann, there's something horrible and strange about being caught between these two identities of his, stands on his porch and watches as Lydia drives down his street like she's running from something.

Which considering what just happened she probably is. Not wanting to attract the attention of nosy neighbors he goes back inside. Morosely staring at the still steaming mug of water and honey he'd gotten for her. He's half-tempted to drink it himself, but he knows it'll only strengthen the lingering sweetness still on his lips from Lydia's kiss.

 _She kissed him_. The part of him that is Jordan, dear human Jordan, keeps telling him she's too young, she doesn't know what she wants. The Erwann part of him, who remembers times when Lydia would have already been married with two children at her age, points out she's already in a relationship. Kissing him didn't mean anything, just a seeking of comfort from someone who cared.

He dumps the mug down the sink. _Keep telling yourself that boy_. He liked it when he shouldn't have. Taking a deep breath he stares out the window into the night. “Dear gods and Winter, I need help.” Or some direction.

—

The sewer stinks, even more so than usual. Stinks of cat and the strange dusty, not-dry scent of Berserkers.

He's only a few feet away before Kate finally notices him, leaping away and pointing a shotgun at him. He clicks his tongue. “You should have heard me coming a lot sooner, it's almost like you have no idea what you're doing.” Though part of him is saying the same thing about himself. Derek, Malia and Lydia might all be on the deadpool but that doesn't mean he should go and try to make a deal with the woman who murdered his family.

She pumps the shotgun, an action even _he_ knows is pointless, and glares. “What, come to try and finish the job Peter?”

Not yet and anyways why would he tell her one way or the other? “If I am?”

The Berserkers behind her step forward, and while normally the sane response would be running the other way he's feeling reckless and driven. He watches as Kate's skin darkens and shifts. “I think you'll find I'm a lot harder to kill this time.”

Nonchalantly he shoves his hands into his pockets and strolls forwards, Glad he's managed to get his self-control back to what it had been before the fire— _her fault, lunge and tear and make it_ stick, his wolf snarls and snaps but can't do much beyond that. “Lucky you I'm not here to kill you. I want to make a deal.”

Kate snarls, showing off some impressive teeth. “That's big of you.” She doesn't, however, lower the gun. On the other hand the Berserkers return to their previous position so he'll take it as a win. “What would this deal entail?”

“You're clearly in need of a few lessons in self control and anger management. I'm quite good at those if I do say so myself.” He stops right in front of her. “I'll teach you.”

Narrowing her eyes she looks up at him. “What do you want in return?”

 _You dead, my family safe, Lydia safe, my money._ “Your help in finding and killing the Benefactor.” That done, most of the rest should hopefully follow.

“Feeling altruistic are we?” She mock pouts. “Did Peter Hale's heart grow three sizes while I was gone? Gained a conscious? I would have thought you'd like the Benefactor cleaning house as it were.”

He will not roll his eyes at her asinine comments. His heart's the same as always, and he _does_ have a conscious—it's called his wolf. As for the Benefactor...he leans in. “Not when it's _my_ money it they're using.”

He doesn't have to look at her face to know she's smiling. “Ah, there it is. The real reason you're talking to me.” One of her hands rests itself on his chest, and it takes all his willpower not to rip it off, literally. “Give it to me straight Pete. It's all about power for you isn't it?”

“Of course,” the lie flows like water, it's clear she doesn't have the control to tell otherwise. “Isn't it what I've always wanted?” If she believes that than she's a bigger fool than he'd thought. He's got power aplenty thanks to the tie still between him and Lydia, an endless well to draw from when he feels so inclined. Then again, he doesn't think she could care about her family if you paid her to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Weaponized part 1, the return of Danny and Jordan has a neat trick.
> 
> Come join your fellow shippers at [We Conquer Death](http://weconquerdeath.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Chapter 5

Lydia awakes the next morning, and the morning after that feeling like shit. Unwillingly she sits upright and knows, come hell or high water, she’s, for the third time this week, not going to school. Even if she has to destroy her throat further in a shouting match with her mom. Missing a day fine, but most of the week? Unacceptable. Fumbling she reaches for her phone and dials Danny, deciding she's tired of moping alone.

He answers with a sleepy, but annoyed grumble. “Dia, what?”

“You’re skipping school,” she manages to get out, even if it is whisper quiet. “When my mom leaves head over, and bring the good chocolate.” Not giving him time to protest she hangs up.

Just in time for mom to knock on her door. “Lydia, you awake? You’re going to be late for school if you don’t leave soon.”

Regretting it even as she does it she crawls out of bed, pulling her comforter around her to keep herself a little warm. Shuffling over to her door she opens it, hoping she looks the mess she feels.

Apparently she does because her mom’s on her in a second. “Oh Lydia, why aren't you dressed?”

 _Because I used a girl and possibly drove her to suicide, and the only thing I feel guilty about is the fact that I couldn’t get more out of her. Which makes me what?_ _—_ “Cute but narcissistic girls...” _—_ _I kissed Jordan Parrish and he broke my heart. I'm in a relationship with a psychotic werewolf who lived in my head for five weeks and who might have just done something incredibly stupid to try and save the daughter who couldn’t care less about him._ When did her life get so fucked up? “I'm not going to school again mom, I still feel terrible. I was at Danny’s a few days ago and, even though he was sick, we shared a cup like idiots and I might have caught his cold.” It’s a good lie because it happened once—though now that she thinks about it _how_ she’d managed to get sick with a human infection is beyond her. Then her throat decides reminds her what she put it through the other night, _ow_.

Her mom’s hand feels her forehead. “Well it doesn’t feel like you have a fever or anything, but...”—her mom sighs—“If you feel that you're really sick you can stay home again and I'll let the principal know.”

Something in Lydia relaxes, _perfect._ “Okay.”

Mom leans in and kisses her forehead, for a moment Lydia feels disconnected. This woman who raised her isn’t her mother, she doesn’t even know Lydia’s not her real daughter. Lydia thinks she'd be crying if her eyes didn’t feel so dry. “Go back to bed and get some more sleep alright? I call you sometime around noon to see how you’re doing.”

Lydia gives her best meek nod, and closing the door shuffles over to her window to peer down at the driveway. When her mom’s car pulls out, Lydia leaves her room and heads down to the kitchen. She tries to reach one of mom’s tea pots, but they’re a shelf too high. Biting back annoyance she grabs the step stool and steps up. Setting the pot on the counter she shoves the step stool out of the way and grabs the electric kettle, filing it all the way with water before turning it on. While that comes to a boil she slices up a lemon, before putting most of those slices and about half a cup of honey in the pot.

As she waits for her water she wonders where Danny is, he should have knocked or come in by now. She gets distracted by the kettle going off and quickly pours the water into the pot. It takes a little bit of maneuvering but she manages to keep her grip on her comforter and grab the pot, making her way to the den.

She thinks she'll let Danny choose what they watch when he gets here, just as long as he picks something mindnumbing and asinine. She's digging up the remotes when the doorbell rings. Shuffling she goes to the front door and opens it. Danny looks a little flushed. “Sorry I'm late. I had to make a supermarket run for stuff.” He offers up a plastic bag as if in proof.

With more speed than she thought herself capable of at the moment she snatches the bag and peers inside. Chocolate, chocolate, and Coffee Caramel Buzz? “I love you.”

Danny smiles as he pulls her into a hug. “You sounded like you needed it.” He fishes the ice cream out. “I'll go put this in the freezer while you take the chocolate and get comfortable alright?”

“Kay.” Once again she does the sick, even though she's not physically sick, shuffle back to the den and turns the TV on.

When Danny enters a little while later he curls right up next to her and takes the remote when she offers it. “What's the order of the day?”

“Bad TV and not giving a fuck about the outside world.”

“Sounds perfect.” He starts flipping channels.

After a quiet debate they settle on the Iron Chef America marathon the Food Network seems to be doing. For the next two hours there's blissful silence, no expectations, chocolate, and soothing lemon-honey water.

Somewhere in hour three she just can't hold it back anymore. “I kissed Parrish the other day.”

Danny tenses a little next to her in interest. “And?”

Pointedly she keeps her focus on Alton Brown explaining the mystery ingredient. “He held still for a moment, then he all but ran for the other side of the room and asked me if I wanted something to drink, sounding for all the world like nothing had just happened...I left before he could come back.”

“Oh Dia.” She goes when he tugs her onto his lap.

She buries her face in his shirt. “I think I drove someone to suicide.” It seems she'd still had a few tears still in her, and they leak out now dampening Danny's shirt.

He tenses for a different reason this time. “What do you mean Lydia?”

The last week—God, has it only been a week?—crawls out of her throat, every shameful bit save Peter. She doesn't think Danny would understand that.

By the end she feels like she did the day before last, and Danny's running a hand through her hair soothingly. “I don't know about it being your fault, but at the very least you exacerbated a bad situation. Not that you could have known that going in. That second time though just shouldn't have happened.”

She opens her mouth to protest but Danny gives her a flat look. “I know, I know, race to stop people from dying. That's not really a good excuses to bother someone who was clearly mentally unstable, especially considering you got the third key without her help.”

Flushing Lydia stares down at her lap and her twisting hands. Like she didn't already feel bad enough. “You don't have to be such a douchenozzle about it. That's not helping me feel bad about me driving her to it.”

“I know.” She feels him lay a peck on her forehead. “As for the guilt thing, I'd chalk that up to your kind of lack of humanity.”

Lydia couldn't help but arch an eyebrow. “You're willing to excuse my lack of guilt, but not what I did.”

Danny shrugs. “You can't help what you are, but you can help what you do with what you are.”

Deciding to let that mull in her brain she doesn't answer and turns her attention back to the TV. An hour or so later she gets up and goes to the kitchen dropping off the now empty tea pot and grabbing the ice cream and two spoons. Back in the den she offers one to Danny like the peace offering it is. Which he thankfully accepts. Demolishing the pint gets them through another hour and a half.

Very faintly Lydia can hear her phone ringing, and apparently Danny can hear it too. “You gonna get that?”

“Danny,” her voice's improved a little, but overall still sounds like it went through a garbage disposal. “Not giving a fuck about the outside world right now, remember?”

His lips twitch in a smile. “Alright, just curious.” They settle back into their marathon.

However despite her wishes her phone keeps ringing, and she wishes she'd turned it off after calling Danny. Sure ignoring it's highly selfish of her, but she feels she's got the right to ignore the newest supernatural disaster to mourn a girl who had the misfortune of being born different.

By the end of the episode it finally stops ringing and she finds herself vacillating between wondering who called and why, and not caring. She resolves to wonder later, right now is for herself.

Then someone knocks on the door.

She and Danny share a look before she heaves a sigh and grudgingly gets up. It just isn't fair, the universe is supposed to listen to _her_ for a change. Dread settles in her chest as she turns the doorknob and pulls the door open.

Parrish stands on her porch. The kiss, and it's aftermath, flicker through her mind in full technicolor. She almost says 'you' accusingly but that's inexorably tied to Peter, and at the moment worrying about Peter on top of everything is really is just too much. “What do you want?” She's in no mood for niceties at the moment.

“We need you at the school. Something's happened.” That fact that he's being such a professional make her feel like a horrible, selfish teenager. Granted she is.

Biting back a sigh she straightens as best she can. “Let me get dressed.” She is _not_ going in her pajamas. There's a second of awkwardness, and Lydia feels something in her just give up. “You might as well come in and wait.” She steps aside a little so he can pass.

Once he's inside she shuts the door and goes back to the den, giving Danny a small smile. “The outside world got serious.”

Danny stands. “Do what you gotta do, I'll start cleaning up.”

Her smile grows a little more. “Thanks.”

Up in her room she grabs clothes based more on their comfort than their fashion, and only puts on her bare minimum of make up. When she gets back downstairs both Danny and Parrish are waiting for her. Wordlessly she gestures for Parrish to lead the way out, while giving Danny a hug. Danny surprises her by following them out. At her arched eyebrow he gives a brief, but cheeky smile. “What? Did you think I was going to sit idly by while you had all the fun?”

“Chaos and death, so much fun.” Climbing into the back of a police cruiser is definitely an interesting experience.

There's a minute of strange silence as Parrish starts the car and starts driving towards the school. But then she can't hold the questions back. “What's going on this time?”

Through the grill she can barely see Parrish shrug. “Overall we're not sure. A teacher called the CDC a hour or so ago.” Ice crawls down her spine, at least you could kill a ravening werewolf. “They're acting like it's smallpox.”

“Which was eradicated in 1979, and considering there haven't been any break ins at any WHO centers recently is highly unlikely.” Parrish gives Danny a strange look through the rearview mirror.

“Anyway...The sheriff thinks it might be something _else_.”

“Something supernatural?” Dancing around it just seems silly since they're all in the know.

Parrish, once again via rearview mirror—maybe she should be taking notes—arches an eyebrow as if questioning her choice of words.

She rolls her eyes and huffs. “Danny knows everything Parrish, so being coy is pointless.”

“Alright, yes, something supernatural. We can't get in contact with anyone inside since they turned the school into a dead zone.”

“We're all going to learn Morse code. Super hearing has to be good for _something_ other than eavesdropping.” Seriously, they need to establish alternate means of communication.

Danny sniggers. “Any other way to get into the school?”

Luckily for Parrish they've just hit a red light, apparently getting them to the school isn't urgent enough to warrant the siren, and he can turn around and give Danny the full force of his incredulous look. “You seriously want to go _into_ a quarantine?”

“It's not like I can get sick.” He does his finger snap fire trick.

“Except for colds.” Lydia decides to remind.

Danny's smug expression turns a little sheepish. “I forgot about that. But trust me, I'm not likely catch whatever's going around. It'd be good to find out what's happening inside.”

“There is the Hale vault, but I don't know if any of us could actually get into it.”

She can tell Parrish is annoyed, he has to focus on the road again, from the set of his shoulders. “Hale vault?”

Even though he can't see it Lydia shrugs anyways. “Yep. Apparently they decided under what was soon to be a high school was the perfect place to store their esoteric items.”

Danny shrugs. “It makes sense, there's a nexus of telluric currents there. It's a good place to keep mystical things.”

What is her life that she could have _serious_ conversations about 'telluric currents' and secret family vaults? “Alright fine, putting it all aside we still have no way of getting into the vault. None of us have claws, and for all we know you've got to be a Hale to open it. Because that's the sort of day I'm having.” Briefly she wonders if she called Peter if he'd actually pick up, she'd tried yesterday but he hadn't, she isn't going to wonder about _why_.

“Well first things first, _where_ exactly is the vault?” Lydia finds herself surprised by Parrish's question, until she realizes it's kind of an important one. The school will be crawling with deputies and CDC people, sneaking in will be a bitch if they're in the wrong place.

“It's under the Beacon Hills High sign.” Of all the places, why there?

She hears Jordan tap a rhythm out on the steering wheel. “That's on the west side of the school right?”

“Yeah,” Danny answers. “Next to the stairs down to the quad and breezeway.”

“Lucky for us, the CDC's mostly on the east side of the school, though they have cordons up at all the exit/entrances. I'm sure the sheriff can keep everyone away long enough for us to get in.”

It's not much of a plan, but it's easier to adapt if things go horribly wrong. A minute or so later they arrive at the school, which is indeed swarming with CDC officials and deputies. The sheriff looks disturbingly relieved to see them all. “Oh good, you found her.” He crossed his arms. “Lydia, are you getting anything?”

Lydia finds she doesn't like being thought of like that. “No, why would I?” She crosses her own arms.

His shoulders slump. “Sorry, I'd just hoped...”

Well she understands _that._  “If I suddenly have the urge to scream I'll let you know Sheriff.” So far whatever powers/controls/whatever you want to call it her banshee...whatevers hasn't acted up since Meredith, she _thinks_ that was her banshee senses.

Parrish provides a wonderful distraction. “Anything changed since I left?”

The sheriff shakes his head. “No. The CDC's still confused as to what this might be, they haven't released an official statement yet. From what I've overheard this isn't like any disease they've ever come across before.”

Panic crawls up Lydia's throat and she wants to scream for a completely different reason. A familiar hand wraps around her forearm, and it grows warm. “Lydia,” Danny's voice surprises her a little, distracting her from Parrish's and the sheriff's conversation. “Take a deep breath.” There's a strange soothing crackle to his tone.

Shakily she does so. Danny's grip on her arm loosens a little but it, and the warmth, remains. “Now come on, is this really the worst thing that's happened to you?”

Lydia shakes her head, but her _mom's_ in there, and so are most of the people she's ever known. The thought of all of them _dying_ is terrifying. She pulls her arm out of Danny's grasp, only to replace it with her hand, he gives her a smile and squeezes. “I'm not gonna say everything'll be alright, because, you know, that's not really possible, but we'll do the best with what happens yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Stilinski can get us ten minutes.” Parrish steps back over to them, and she doesn't even feel annoyed that he kind of ruined the moment. “Meaning we should probably hurry.”

They hurry over to the other side of school, the sign's abandoned, though as they pass the stairs down she can see two CDC agents lurking about the entrance down there. At the sign she points out the strange fourfold knot, strange in that it doesn't look like any other fourfold knot she's ever seen before. “Other than the fact this is what opens it I have no idea about anything else.”

Parrish looks at it for a few moments. “You said 'claws' right?”

Lydia shrugs. “Yeah.”

“I may have something then.” She and Danny watch as Parrish goes over to a nearby oak. He does a little hand waving and some things she can't quite see that she's sure is fairly impressive up close, then from what she can tell he digs his fingers _into_ the tree.

When he comes back he grins and shows off his fingers. They might be made out of wood, but they're clearly claws. “Cool,” Lydia's not quite sure how to describe Danny's tone.

Parrish steps up to the knot on the sign and stares at it. “Do you know what I'm supposed to do here?”

Lydia shrugs. “It was already open when I got here last time.”

He sighs and rolls his shoulders. “The old fashioned way then.” Raising his left hand he runs his hands over the carving, clearly looking for whatever mechanism works it. He tries inserting the faux-claws in a few places, but none seem to work. Finally though he tries some strange finger pattern.

Which fits, but nothing else happens. He then surprises her by starting to mutter in what sounds like a Brythonic language, not that she can tell anything about it other than that.

She feels Danny sidle up next to her. “You're a lying liar who lies.” His tone is teasing though.

Crossing her arms she gives him a side look. “Why is that?”

“You said he was cute, not adorably handsome.”

“Well you can't have him,” somehow she manages to make her tone both prim and teasing.

Danny huffs in laughter. “No shit. Anyways I'm not really feeling the whole dating thing right now, ya know.”

Which brings down the lighthearted mood they'd somehow managed, but that's alright. “How's Ethan?” She regrets the word the moment they leave her mouth.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see him shrug. “I don't really know. I got a postcard from him last week from Alaska, but he didn't actually _write_ anything on it. Idiot.”

Any further conversation's withheld when Parrish makes a sound of triumph and, focusing, Lydia watches as the sign slides back a little. She and Danny rejoin him.

They stare down at the stairwell leading to the vault proper, it doesn't look any less like a gaping maw eager to swallow them whole this time than it did last time. Danny looks more impressed than he probably should be. “Huh.” He takes the first few steps before turning to her. “Well?”

She rolls her eyes and moves to follow him, only to be stopped by Parrish, his hand gently around her wrist. A brief moment of deja vu flickers through her; she wonders if he'll kiss her pulse again or if he'll try to distance himself. “What?” It doesn't come out as annoyed as she wants it to.

“Lydia...I think you should put on one of the suits.”

“Why? I thought I didn't need one.”

His shoulders slump a little and for a second she feels his thumb rub her pulse. “You might, if the infection is supernatural in origin it still might be able to affect you.”

She finds herself glaring at him. “If it is supernatural then it seems to me that a suit would be doubly useless.”

The brush of his thumb against her pulse returns. “Intent and meaning are a lot in this world. The suit's made to keep stuff out and so stuff stays out. It's a symbol.”

She's not sure if arguing more or putting on the suit will take more time out of what needs to be done and decides she might as well play it safe. “Alright.”

As Jordan...as _Parrish_ jogs off to get her a suit she turns back to Danny who's looking up at her with an expectant expression. She narrows her eyes. “What?”

Danny can't pull off nonchalant to save his life. “Nothing 'Dia. You're just right, he's totally a literary knight.” She gets the distinction because real historical knights were assholes. “Maybe you should ask him for a good luck kiss.” He doesn't waggle his eyebrows.

She snorts. “Nope.” She's not exactly _giving up_ on Parrish, but she's...ignoring it for now. Luckily for her Parrish returns, one of those garish yellow suits in his arms. She arches an eyebrow as he holds it out. “How on Earth did you get that?”

His cheeks pinken a little. “I may or may not have glamoured it out the agents down there. Don't worry they'll be fine if a little dazed.”

“Glamoured?” She takes the suit. Glad now that she'd dressed for comfort in the plainest shirt she owned and _jeans,_ heels and a short skirt would have been disastrous.

This time her question gets a shrug. “It's a...persuasion of sorts, all fae can do it. Makes people more susceptible to us, make them want to do things for us.” Another shrug. “I can explain it better when we've got more time.”

Zipping herself up is a lot harder than it looks, especially considering her sense of touch's limited with the rubberized suit. Giving up she turns around. “Can you zip this for me? I'm holding you to that explaining conversation Jordan.”

Fingers hesitate at the zipper for a heartbeat, but then do up the rest in a single motion. “There.” She turns back around to thank him, but he surprises her by cupping his hands around her face, which again feels strange through the plastic faceplate. “Be safe please, and...try to think of yourself first.” He lets go and hoists himself up onto the sign. “I'll stay here until this closes and make sure no one notices.”

She can't really form the words to respond because his...advice? Benediction?, leaves her feeling a little strange. So she just nods and descends the steps into the vault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Weaponized pt 2: A special guest, Danny, and things get really different.
> 
> Come join your fellow shippers at [We Conquer Death](http://weconquerdeath.tumblr.com/)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So since I haven't done it for a while: thanks [RantsofaFangirl](rantsofafangirl.tumblr.com) for betaing, and a special thanks to [Saiya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Saiya/pseuds/Saiya), 'cause even if I didn't really go with your suggested idea for how to resolve this chapter you still helped big time.

Descending the stairs she doesn't see Danny until she's passed the lintel and entered the vault proper. He's off to the left, perusing the boxes. “Come on, we don't have much time.”

He turns around and she sees him instantly bite his lip to keep from laughing. “You look ridiculous.”

Lydia attempts a sneer, though it's probably not as effective as she's hopes. “I'm in a hazmat suit Danny, they're not exactly the height of fashion.” She walks past him and towards what, in the dim light at least, looks like another knot in the wall; she sends a prayer up that they don't need claws to use it from this side. As she passes the safe she finds she can't look at it, there's a vague menace to it and she _knows_ that it's incomplete somehow. All the Hale knots are, they're missing something she just doesn't know what and she finds she wants to know.

Danny joins her in front of what's clearly a 'secret' door. “You push it.”

“No you push it,” it makes her sound like a five year old.

“I'll pay you five dollars to push it.” Apparently she's not the only five year old.

She lets herself laugh. “Doofus. Fine, I'll push it. Your five dollars better come in bills.” Reaching up, why does everyone else have to be so goddamn tall?, she pushes the symbol and feels a rush of relief when it depresses. The door sliding aside to reveal a tall metal shelving unit and through it what looks like one of the basement halls. The two of them share a look, then get to work shoving aside the shelves. Danny does most of the work, then again out of the two of them he's the most fit, and eventually the shelves have been pushed away enough that they can get through. Taking a deep breath, mostly to try and calm down, she steps into the hall, Danny following.

In the hall Danny instantly turns around, inspecting the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“What you want to leave it open and let the infection possibly get out?” When he puts it like _that_. His hands start tracing the lintel, searching for a lever of some sort. Something clicks and he has to jump back to prevent his fingers from getting smashed.

Soon all that's before them is a wall with the Hale knot in the middle of a triskalion, a knot Lydia's willing to beat Danny's five dollars on needs claws to open from this side. “What now?” Danny's voice makes Lydia jump for some reason and she gives herself a little shake, zoning out could be disastrous for them right now.

“Now we need to find Scott and the others and see what they know, and try and find out what and how this all started.” She squares her shoulders. “Lets get up to the main floor first and we'll talk and see if Scott or someone else with superhearing hear us.”

“Alright.” He points left. “This way'll be quicker.” Silently they walk down the hall and up the stairs. When they get into the school proper there's a tenseness in the air. One that Lydia swears she can taste—burnt toast being covered up with too much jam—and for a brief moment all she can think about is that night Peter trapped them all in the school.

Taking a few steps forward Danny looks around. “Looks like we're alone here. How do we want to get their attention?”

“Sco-ott, Ma-lia, Li-am, Ki-ra.” She doesn't shout, because that might draw the wrong sort of attention, and hopes they'll hear. As plans go it's not her best, though she thinks it's better than some of the ideas Scott and Stiles have had. Hers, at the moment, doesn't have her and Danny splitting up to find everyone.

Lydia instinctively reaches for her phone to check the time, but all she comes up against is the suit, closing her eyes she sighs. “Can you tell me when it's been five minutes?”

“Yeah.” Danny pulls out his own phone; and she hopes the timer isn't affected by the dead zone. Iit isn't, though it feels like it's been half an hour before Danny tells her it's been five.

“Okay, let's go to the next hall and try there.”

They try that hallway, and the next with no luck at all. Unless you counted narrowly missing CDC agents twice. Danny's clearly given up and has started looking through classroom windows. “What're you looking for?”

He doesn't answer as he peers through the window of another abandoned classroom. According to what she'd overheard from wandering CDC agents they were congregating most of the not sick people in the gym and the sick in the cafeteria. “We're looking for here.” He opens the door and steps in, closing it after her.

He walks over to the phone on the desk and she finds herself making annoyed sounds. “You know the phones are dead right Danny? CDC put up a dead zone.”

The flat look Danny gave her is a little unsettling. “Yeah, but it's a _wireless_ dead zone.” He picks up the receiver and holds it out. She steps up to it and blinks when she hears a dialtone. “Landlines are hardwired, it's a lot harder to cut them off. A fact that has apparently escaped most of the people in the school.” He starts doing something with the little white buttons the phone usually rests on.

“Alright, but how is this going to help us find Scott? What on Earth are you doing?”

“It's called switch hooking, and it's basically a really cool party trick these days if you've got the right kind of phone. In a school that's currently in a dead zone don't you think someone making a phone call would be something worth noticing?”

Fair point. “Sure, if Scott or Malia are paying enough attention to their surroundings, or if Liam's actually gotten control of his senses. I don't even know if Kira has superhearing. Or if any of them aren't flat out sick alongside most of the school.” Danny shrugs. “Who are you calling anyways?”

His lips twitch in a grin. “Jackson.” He stops his button pushing, sorry _switch hooking_.

Oh boy. “Why are you calling Jackson?” Out of everyone it seems out of the blue.

Danny shrugs again. “Why not? For all we know Jackson's dulcet tones will catch Scott's attention faster than ours would, considering they haven't talked since last year.”

Lydia kind of has to laugh at that, because it's ridiculously true.

He taps the desk, waiting for the call to connect. He visibly perks up when it does. “Hey Jackson, hold on a sec I'm gonna put you on speaker phone.”

There's a faint crackling sound from the speaker then: “why the hell are you calling me during school? Not that talking to you isn't fun Danny.” She and Danny share a look, London hasn't changed Jackson at all.

“Lydia and I actually had to sneak into school 'cause the CDC's closed off the whole area because everyone mysteriously started getting sick.”

“What the fuck did McCall do now?” You could cut Jackson's annoyance with a knife. “Lydia's there?”

She resists the urge to wave. “Hi Jackson. We're pretty sure it has nothing to do with Scott, though other than that we've go no idea.”

“We were hoping you could help us find Scott and everyone else so we can hopefully get to the bottom of it.”

Even though they can't see him she knows Jackson's rolling his eyes. “God, I'm surprised you've all managed to survive this long without me.”

“Glad to know London hasn't crippled your _healthy_ sense of self-worth.” Danny somehow says with a smile. “I was hoping you could howl for us, so far we haven't been able to catch his attention on our own and well...you're kind of hard to ignore.”

Lydia sniggers despite whatever petulant reaction it might get out of Jackson.

“Swear to God I'm moving back there.”

“No you're not,” Lydia snorts. “You enjoy being around your fellow douches too much.”

“Always a pleasure to hear your opinions Lydia.” She's long since grown inured to Jackson's biting.

“Not to get in the way of your spat, but could you just howl Jackson? We're possibly on limited time here.” It's relief to have Danny there, because he's right and in the end she and Jackson wouldn't have accomplished anything except pissing each other off.

Jackson gives an annoyed sigh. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He takes a deep breath then...there's always something disconcerting about hearing a sound like that coming out of what she knows is a human throat.

When the howl dies down it feels more quiet than it should in the school. “That good? Or should I try again?”

“Let's give it a few minutes first.” Danny clicks off the speaker. “How's school?”

Lydia tunes Danny out and goes back to the door, opening it and leaning out. Straining for any sort of sound or feeling that the others heard Jackson and are coming. Finally she hears a thunder of feet, you'd think they'd at least _try_ to be inconspicuous, and she turns back around. “They're here Danny.”

She hears him say goodbye to Jackson and then Scott's bursting into the room eyes flaring. “Who's hurt?” He draws up short when he realizes it's her and Danny in the room. Which is about the same time everyone else comes barreling in.

They all look like shit, sick with whatever but are somehow managing to fight the infection. She finds she's starting to feel glad Jordan insisted she put on this suit.

“How”—gasp—“the hell”—wheeze—“did you two get past everyone?” Lydia hopes Stiles doesn't pass out from trying to talk. Though she guesses if he does Kira will still hold him up.

Lydia hopes everyone can see her shrug through the suit. “We went in through the vault.”

“You know where the vault is?” Out of everyone Kira looks the least sick, at the moment that doesn't mean much.

Malia and Liam basically look like they're propping each other up. From here she can see Liam's eyes flaring and his face contorting, see Malia's claws. She nearly asks about that, but decides against it for now. “Yeah, why?”

Scott shifts his weight, though it somehow draws attention to the fact he's own eyes are glowing and his fangs are hard not to notice. “We were gonna quarantine ourselves from everyone else. The virus is affecting us differently.”

That answers her unasked question. “Danny you want to lead them to the vault?” She has other things she needs to make sure of.

“What about you?” Part of her wishes Danny hadn't just asked that.

“I need to find my mom, make sure she's alright.” Calling her 'mom' doesn't change the fact that she isn't, but this woman also raised and brought her up. Lydia at least owes her some gratitude and care for that.

Kira straightens a little. “She's fine Lydia, so far none of the adults have been infected.”

 _Huh_ , in Lydia's mind that firmly rules out airborne pathogen, it wouldn't be localized to teenagers if it were. “I still want to check myself.”

“No.” Scott even manages to sound authoritative. “If we split up you'll get quarantined with everyone else. We can't loose you.”

Part of her fights for her to demand 'why?', why now and not other times when the pack's left her to her own devices? The rest buckles under the authority of the Alpha and the social need to not be looked down on. “Fine,” she snaps. Walking over to Kira and Stiles she takes Stiles' other arm and slings it over her shoulder. Freeing Kira to help Scott, not that Scott really accepts said help.

Stiles is heavy against her, and mostly dead weight; once again she's grateful she dressed sensibly. “You'd better be able to walk Stiles, I'm _not_ dragging you all the way to the basement.”

He laughs weakly. “I got here just fine.” He sounds more proud of that then he should be.

“Kira's a taller crutch than I am.” With a jerk of her head she tries to tell Danny they should be leaving.

H gets the message and soon they're a jumbled line walking back towards the basement. Despite the fact that seventy percent of the group's sick they make surprisingly good time and before Lydia knows it they're there.

At the vault door there's a bit of lollygagging. “Someone with claws is going to have to open it,” Lydia volunteers. She hopes that no one really questions how she and Danny got in through the other side. She doesn't want to share Jordan like that, not with them—and she's not really going to inspect the implications of that thought.

Scott tries to be subtle in his sidling up to her. “Do they need to be a Hale?” From the way no one else really reacts to that question she guess her and Stiles are the only ones who hear it. She shrugs. “How should I know.”

Which probably won't make her current position any better but she doesn't care. Scott turns to Malia. “Can you get it?”

“Why me?”

He raises his hands to show off his fingers. “I can't bring out my claws. I don't think Liam can either.”

Everyone turns to Liam who tries to sink into Malia's side. At a look from Scott he dutifully raises his right hand and scrunches his face up in concentration—which is a little adorable in a sad way. After a minute of nothing happening Malia sighs. “Fine, but first you guys have to come clean.”

There's some nervous shuffling as Malia shoves Liam onto Kira. Malia clearly picks up on it. “There's no use hiding it anymore I know–”

“Look we–” Stiles tries to interrupt Malia.

“–I'm on the deadpool.” She continues as if Stiles hasn't said anything at all.

Stiles' mouth shuts with a vaguely disturbing click of his teeth.

“Though I don't know why you guys are so worried about me being on it, all of you are worth more than I am, obviously the assassin's will go after everyone else first.” Lydia wonders how Malia knows that.

“Liam's not worth as much as you are,” Lydia corrects. Then she does her best to pinch Stiles. “If you call that progress I'm going to drop you,” she hisses. He wisely doesn't say anything.

“As fascinating as this all is, I'd like to get into the vault sooner rather than later,” Danny says.

Malia shrugs and goes up to the knot. Lydia's not sure if it's instinct, or if whatever magic's tied into the seal recognizes Malia's a Hale and helps, but Malia gets the claw configuration right the first time and the door slides open smoothly, revealing the dim lights. Lydia feels a little relief that the other entry's closed.

They all shuffle in. Scott and Kira, who's still trying to help Scott even if he's ignoring it, collapse against a crate close to the safe. Malia and Liam make it a bit further before they too sink to the floor. Danny surprises Lydia by going over to Scott and Kira. “You guys alright?”

“Mmwanna be next to Malia.” It's weird to realize that for a moment she'd forgotten Stiles is still leaning on her. She dutifully shuffles him over and sets him down on Malia's other side. Who promptly sighs and rests her face on his shoulder. Which shifts Liam closer to Malia, creating the sort of picture you wish you had a camera to memorialize.

She leaves them to their almost-cuddling and meets up with Danny in the center. “What should we do now?”

Danny arches a disbelieving eyebrow. “You're asking _me_? _You're_ the one who had a plan.”

“Yeah, to find the pack and then try to figure out how this started in the hopes that can help us stop it.” There's a growing urge in her to tear off the hazmat suit, the muted sensations are starting to bug her.

He runs his hands through his hair, an action Lydia finds she wishes she could do herself. “Alright. How are we going to go about the second part?'

She sighs, because there's no better way to showcase her frustration at the moment. Before she can speak someone else does.

“It's gotta be an assassin.” Stiles looks better off than he did a few moments ago, and it's surprising he managed to go up to them without either noticing. He's missing his outer jacket and a quick glance tells her Malia's now wearing it, her head flopped the other way to lean against Liam's.

While that's more of a thought than Lydia's been having she still needs to question it. “How do you suppose that?”

He shrugs. “It's worse for them.” His hands fly out to gesture at everyone else. “Than for me. The assassin might be here looking for them, apparently the Benefactor wants visual confirmation before paying out.”

“That still doesn't explain _how_ they did it if it is an assassin.” Danny sounds surprisingly calm about that, maybe the freak out will come later. On the other hand his name's not on the deadpool so it's not like _he's_ got to worry about people coming after him.

Lydia opens her mouth to start tearing Stiles a new one for keeping what's seems like very important information about the Benefactor from her, but Stiles speaks before she can make a sound as if he knows what she wants to do. “Maybe the CDC's figured what this is by now. Two of us could go check? I volunteer to be one.” Of course Stiles would, if he had a chance to find out find out what happened in Hell firsthand he would probably go.

She and Danny share a look, and he speaks before she can. “You want to stay here? They trust you more.”

She nearly rolls her eyes at that, yeah because she's _pack_ _—_ the kind of pack you withhold possibly vital information from and leave alone when there are assassins who might kill her wandering around town. Danny's got points he didn't even verbally bring up. Like the fact he's better suited to fighting if it somehow came to that. She swears when she has a second of free time she's going to ask Jordan to start giving her self-defense lessons.

“Alright yeah.” Though she wants to know her mom's still safe someone needs to stay behind to watch everyone else. Danny gives her a hug, which she gratefully returns even if she can't really feel it.

“Stay safe alright?” It's not quite an echo of Jordan's earlier words but it's a nice reminder that there are at least some people who still care about _her_. She nods as they pull away and she stands in the middle of the vault and watches as Stiles and Danny leave.

The sound of the vault closing sounds more ominous than it has any right to be. Fear trickles down her spine when she realizes there's a scream slowly building up inside her.

—

For someone's who's sick Stiles seems to be doing alright. Not that Danny's one to judge at the moment, he'd hate to be dragging Stiles' lame ass around. “What's the first order of business?” He doesn't know if following Stiles' suggestions, whatever they might be, is the best of ideas but he's drawing a blank.

Stiles jitters. “Let's...We should check on Lydia's mom, see what she knows.”

Which Danny guesses is better than stumbling around without a clue. “Alright.”

Since Stiles knows the way better than he does, relatively speaking, Danny lets him go first and trails after. Feeling almost hyper-aware of his surroundings. Especially the heating vents. Not that California never really gets the sort of hot he's used to. It makes him miss Hawai'i, and Kilauea, even more—and wonder once again _why_ he parents moved the family from there to here, there weren't even any constantly active volcanoes nearby to draw from.

They check the cafeteria first since it's closer, and luck out when they see Mrs. Martin there. Danny hangs back while Stiles stumbles up to her. The two of them chat, he's far enough away that he can't make out words. At about the same time he and Stiles realize Coach is on one of the quarantine beds. Which from what Kira, and it's been strange seeing her around school this week and recall she's not just the new girl with good fashion sense, said isn't right.

A minute or so later Stiles is back by his side and they quickly make themselves scarce before any CDC agents corner them. “What'd she say?”

“That I should be laying down,” Stiles gripes as they head down an abandoned hall. “Coach is the only adult to get sick. He's the reason she called the CDC.”

Danny lets things mull in his brain for a few moments as they somehow start heading towards Coach's office. “What's something all the students touch but none of the adults?” Danny's sure there're quite a few things only students touch but at the moment he can only draw a blank.

“Except Coach.” Stiles reminds.

An exasperated huff escapes him before he can stop it, because _duh._ “And Coach. Anything happen this morning?”

“Just an early practice since the first game of the season's next week. Dude, why'd you not sign up for lacrosse this year? You're one of our best players.” Stiles bumps their shoulders and gives his best 'you can tell me anything' look, but Danny's never really bought it.

He shrugs. “Wasn't really feeling it this year.” Which he could say for a lot a lot of things this year, overall everything's been kind of 'blah' and part of him kind of wants to take after Ethan and just _leave_. Jackson's been ragging on him to go to Jungle and find a one night stand to get it out of his system. Danny's ]never been that sort of guy.

The desire to go find himself a nice volcano to live next to—Mexico had some good ones—and be a hermit is sounding better and better by the second. Except Danny thinks he might go a little stir-crazy without people.“Anything different happen during practice?”

Stiles frowns and scrunches his face up, which makes him look even worse. “Greenburg accidentally threw Coach into the lockers after, and believe you me he got the lecture of a lifetime.”

Danny can believe it, Greenburg's like that. A few steps later something clicks. “What if it's the lockers?”

Stiles stumbles to a stop. “What?”

“Come on have you ever seen a teacher willingly touch the lockers?” Even though he's 98% certain he's immune he still finds himself stepping away from the nearest row of lockers. Danny doesn't know all that much about diseases save for what he's learned in various science classes over the years but there were incubation periods right? “Did...Did Coach teach econ?”

A frown appears on Stiles' face. “No, there was a sub, though it didn't make sense at the the time because he'd been fine that morning and I don't think anyone knew he was sick yet...”

In some disturbing coincidence Stiles' realization is punctuated by the cocking of a gun. Sharing panicked looks he and Stiles slowly turn around to see an innocuous looking man pointing a gun right at them. “You did seem too clever by far Mr. Stilinski.” His eyes flick to Danny for a moment, but he knows the exact moment the man stops considering him a threat.

Danny's experienced a lot of things most would consider terrifying and been relatively unphased, usually related to very hot things and fire. Like everyone else he's terrified of having a gun pointed at him. Though to be more precise the gun's pointed at Stiles. Danny knows there are things he could do to change the balance in this situation, but all of them still have the possibility of either of them getting shot.

He's got enough power in him, thank you empty calories, that he could blind the guy, but that doesn't guarantee he won't shoot Stiles before then. Or he could burn the guy's arm—but that has the same possibility. So he's hobbled, and he hates it. There's also the fact that Stiles is here and out of everyone he's the one who's incapable of leaving well enough alone. If Stiles weren't here well Danny would definitely be acting.

“Now,” the man speaks drawing Danny from his thoughts. “If you'd be so kind as to take me to your friends Mr. Stilinski.”

This just keeps getting better and better.

—

Lydia paces in the vault, making sure everyone else is staying in place—because they totally need the four of them wandering around and getting _more_ hurt—too nervous to sit still. She thinks she might be turning into Stiles, because the silence here is starting to feel oppressive. She thinks it might be because of the scream still building and building, and she just _has_ to fill it. “Is everyone alright? Anything changed?” Visual observation can only tell her so much.

“My vision's starting to go blurry.”

“I feel like shit.”

“I'm fine.”

Liam only snarls. Even though she's apparently feeling like shit Malia keeps him in his spot—though it entails her sitting on him.

Deciding Malia's got that covered she strides over to Scott and crouches down. His eyes are violently strobing between Alpha red and dark brown. Lydia bites back a sigh. “Scott whatever you are is _not_ fine.”

He bares his teeth at her. “I'll be okay. Worry about the others.”

This time she nearly bites through her tongue trying to hold back her waspish reply of 'don't be such a fucking martyr.' If Scott wants her to worry about the others then fine she'll worry about them. They might actually care about _her_.

Luckily for Scott the crinkle of paper distracts her and she's whirling around. Malia's unfolding a piece of paper and... _oh Stiles you didn't_.

He did. Malia stares at the page for a few tense seconds. Then... “Guys...I...I can't see.”

In a flash Lydia's at her side. “Malia. Malia I need you to take deep breaths okay? You're still alive, it's just psychosomatic.” Which might be a lie, but Lydia's freaked out enough at the moment that she doesn't think anyone will notice. The fact she could say it all shows just how panicked she is.

Malia moves in that Liam underneath her moves. “I don't know what that means Lydia.”

“I do know what it means and you trust me right?” It's a bit of a low blow, but Lydia'll take it if it means Malia stays calm.

“Enough.” That's better than no.

Lydia takes one of Malia's hands in her gloved ones. “Than trust me when I say you'll get better. Danny and Stiles'll be back soon and we'll fix you all. Alright?” Closing her eyes Lydia prays they don't make liars of her.

“Okay.”

The scream builds.

—

“How about not?” There Stiles goes running his mouth off. In this case Danny's not going to stop him, it might just be the distraction they need to either draw attention to them, or for him to figure out something. “Though to be perfectly honest they dropped me in a hot second when they realized what was happening. Human dead weight, that's me.”

There's something Danny's not going to touch with a mile long pole. Stiles' inadequacy issues aside Danny wishes the assassin had caught them in the locker room and not in a hall, he could really use an lacrosse stick right now.

“Now, now Stiles, that's not true is it? You should be grateful you're human, unlike you're friends you'll get better. So please.” He raises the gun to Stiles' head. “Take me to them.”

Danny feels his heart's going to jump right out of his throat. Even though it means dealing with angry parents he gathers light and heat inside him, _kuki-'ena-i-ke-ahi-ho'omau-honua help me find my path._  He inhales in preparation for releasing that light and heat to blind, but before he can exhale the gun fires and _oh goddesses._ He's got blood splatter on him and he feels he needs to shower for a century.

Which is about the time he realizes that it's not Stiles who has been shot, but the assassin. Mr. McCall, like some badass action movie hero, starts unzipping his hazmat suit—Danny's never really liked older men but alright.

“Melissa wanted me to tell you the cure you need's in the vault. It's a dried mushroom called purple reshi. And that you need to hurry! Go!”

Dissipating heat's harder than gathering it. Easy for him to convert it into extra energy to throw into running, which he does after grabbing Stiles and hoping he can keep it together long enough for them to get back to the vault.

—

For a brief moment Lydia almost-hears whispering, whispering that draws the scream unwillingly from her. Gritting her teeth the scream only comes out as some weird groaning-squeak. As it passes the whispering grows stronger and Lydia's certain that she didn't know whoever died. It still catches the other's attention though. “Lydia are you okay?” It annoys her at how genuinely worried Scott sounds. As if reacting to her annoyance Malia shifts away from her.

Now that she doesn't have to worry about screaming anymore something in her relaxes. “I'm fine Scott.” She is, and she will be dammit!

“Lydia!” She starts at hearing a voice through the wall.

She feels a little bad at leaving Malia to go to the door but she does. “What?”

“There should be a vaccine there in the vault.” This time she can tell it's Danny on the other side. “It's called purple reishi and it's in a jar.”

She will _not_ roll her eyes. “Danny there are a million jars, I need more than that!”

“It's a dried mushroom! It's rare, so I don't think there'll be much of it. I literally know nothing more than that.”

“Alright. I'll see what I can find.” She leaves the wall and starts looking around, paying more attention to the smaller jars than the bigger ones. Finally she thinks she's found it, opening the jar tries to smell it, then remembers she _can't_. Quickly she goes back to the wall. “I think I found it. What do I do now?”

For a moment the other side's quite and she feels a flash of fear. “How the hell should I know Lydia? Scott's dad wasn't thick with the details.”

Lydia bangs her head lightly against the wall a few times. “Fine then,” she mutters to herself. “We'll figure it out on our own.”

“Lydia?” Kira sounds like she's about to start crying and Lydia takes a few deep breaths.

Go about this logically. She can't introduce it into the bloodstream which would be the best way of administering it. Maybe crushing some up and forcing inhalation might work but she has no idea how _fast_ it'll work, then again she has no idea how fast their stomachs would digest the stuff if she managed to force feed them. It's not like she's got time to experiment.

Taking a deep breath she opens the jar, reaches in, and goes over to Malia, pulling out a mushroom she crushes it in her hand and thrusts it under Malia's nose. “Three deep breaths Malia.” Malia doesn't argue. Lydia does the same thing to Liam, who she should have done first since he's the newest at being a supernatural creature.

When she's 'dosed' them she goes over to Kira, as the Alpha she feels Scott could last the longest against the virus, also he was kind of an asshole to her earlier. “Kira, deep breaths.” Lydia starts praying to whoever might be listen that this is working.

Finally she gets to Scott, glancing over she sees that Malia looks better than she did before. Liam doesn't look any _worse_ , which is highly encouraging. “Scott I need you to take deep breaths alright?”

When she's satisfied she sets the jar, still open, on the floor hopefully whatever it is that makes the mushrooms do whatever it is they're doing will disseminate in the air and speed everything along. She heads to the door and hits the button. Relieved to seeing Danny, with a comatose looking Stiles in a fireman's carry over his shoulders, on the other side.

He stumbles in and shrugs Stiles off, and since she's still got the crushed reshi in her other hand she sticks it under Stiles' nose. “If you can still breath make them deep Stiles.”

Seconds later he's coughing and sputtering. “Christ that reeks.”

Lydia lets loose the nervous laughter bubbling in her chest. She claps her hands together a few times to introduce the rest of the powdered mushroom on her suit into the air as well. She finds herself really relaxing, _crisis averted._ As if to prove it to herself she starts trying to tear herself out of the hazmat suit.

Out of the corner of her eye she watches as Stiles, now standing on his own power, starts walking towards where Malia is, only to freeze. She stops her own actions and turns to see Malia holding the paper again, _fuck_.

Better now Malia starts walking, batting away Stiles' outstretched hand as she passes it, and seconds later she's gone. Lydia would be more worried if she didn't think Malia had a right to know about who she really was. Instead she finishes getting herself out of the suit, somehow managing it on her own.

Scott and Stiles have already left the vault, if she had to guess to find Malia and make their case. Kira's helping Liam out, leaving her and Danny. “I'm gonna head out that way.” She gestures towards the vault's actual entrance. “You coming or are you going to hang around?”

Before she even finishes the question she realizes Danny's heading for the door. “Definitely not going to hang around. I just wanna go home, hug Katie and fall into bed.” As he passes her he pulls her into another hug, this time she fully relishes it, enthusiastically hugging him back.

“Thank you for coming with me.” She might have been able to do it without him, but not without some of the pack possibly dying.

He gives her a squeeze then pulls away. “What are friend for but for following each other into potentially deadly situations. Also you owe me big time, I had a gun held up to my head.”

With a roll of her eyes Lydia squats down to close up the reshi jar and put it away. Gathering up her suit she follows Danny up the stairwell. “You could just not owe me five dollars and we can call it even?”

As the sign pulls away from the hole Danny turns and gives her a look. “Not on your Life Lydia Florence Martin.”

—

Jordan feels mostly relief when Lydia and her friend Danny, come out. He hangs back though as the two of them say goodbye. When Danny's gone he rushes to her side and pulls her into a hug. Right now he doesn't care about what happened two days ago, all he cares about is reassuring himself that she's alive and well and _here_. It takes her a few moments but soon she's hugging him back and something inside him he didn't even know was tense relaxes. “Everything alright?” He has no idea what happened to her in there, and he feels he has a right to be worried.

She shakes with laughter for a brief second. “Yeah, everything's fine. It's just...I think I learned some things about the others that just...change things.”

“You want to talk about it?” He pulls away far enough that it's easy to cup her face with his hands, which feels infinitely better without the plastic face plate of that suit.

He thinks she might burst into tears, but then she gives a sharp shake of her head. “No. I...can you hold me for a little longer?”

Which manages to get a faint smile out of him. “Yeah, I can do that.” He pulls her closer again, letting some of his glamour encircle and hide them from prying eyes.

Lydia gives a soft sigh and rests her head on his collarbone.

Jordan's not sure how long they stay like that but eventually Lydia pulls away, a watery smile on her face. “Thank you.” Almost shyly—an attitude he didn't think he'd ever see on Lydia—she toes at the suit on the ground between them, crumpled and dirty from where they've stepped on it. “You should take this back.”

He's not sure if it's deflection or if she's genuinely worried about what the CDC might do if they realize one if their suits are missing. Either way she's right and he should be going. “Yeah. You fine getting home on your own?”

She nods. “I'm going to wait here until they release mom and I can ride home with her.”

This time he gives her the brightest smile he can, holding out his free hand. “May I?” It seems polite to ask after everything that's happened.

Without even asking what he means she puts her hand in his. He turns it so her wrist is face up and brings it up to his lips. Her breath hitches as he kisses her pulse and he feels it jump under his touch. When he pulls away it's hard not to notice her hazel eyes are nearly luminous. “Until I see you again Lydia.”

He turns around and leaves.

—

At the end of the day she finds herself at the loft, staring at Peter's back—and wondering where the hell Derek is. She will, in no way shape or form, tell him she's been worried about him. Because worry implies she cares about him. Which she doesn't, why should she care about a fuck-buddy? “Please tell me you're not posing for dramatic effect?” She wouldn't put it past him.

Peter laughs. “Ah Lydia, I have so missed your biting wit.” He turns to face her, a smirk on his lips, which she absentmindedly notices is surrounded by stubble.

“If you didn't up and vanish you might get more of it more often.” She arches an eyebrow and crosses her arms. She, however, feels she has the right to accuse him.

He takes a few steps closer to her. “If I told you I have a good reason?” He comes closer, and it doesn't escape her that he's stalking her.

“Not good enough Peter. I get that you're concerned about Malia being on the list...”

“Now what makes you think that Lydia? When have I ever shown concern for her?”

Crossing her arms she tilts her head up to glare at him. She knows he's trying to distract her, and it's working a little, but she overall won't be dissuaded. “What happened?”

Peter's now standing right in front of her, forcing her to crane her neck so she can still meet his eye, _asshole_. “Now, now Lydia. I'm not one to kiss and tell. Especially to you.”

Ooooooo, she just wants to...what she wants gets replaced with something new when he yanks her to him, hoisting her up so he can kiss her.

She throws all her anger into that kiss, eagerly biting his lips and tongue to draw what little blood she can, adding a coppery tang to the mix.

Without warning her back's slammed into a wall and she breaks the kiss so she can gasp for air. Taking advantage of that Peter starts marking her neck, his stubble—it must be important if he's forgetting to shave again—scratching in just the right ways. A hiss escapes her as pushes aside the neck of her shirt to bite her shoulder.

“Ow.”

Peter chuckles, the sound rumbling through her in a deliciously pleasant way, overwhelming the pain of his bite. He noses at it for a moment before pulling away and kissing her again, all the while tearing at her shirt. Or one hand does, the other dives down, taking more care in undoing her jeans than everything else.

When that hand finally breaches her pants it takes no time in maneuvering around her underwear to play with her clit and labia, driving her into further arousal. “Ah!” She's finding she can get behind some 'thank God I'm still alive' sex.

She can feel Peter's smile as they continue to kiss. “Oh,”—he finally manages to destroy her shirt and she'll probably be angry about it later—“Lydia.” Now that she's leaking juice his fingers dive in, stretching her and curling in madding ways. “How lovely you are.”

“Peeeteerrrr.” She couldn't care less about what he thinks about her right now, just as long as doesn't stop.

He doesn't, and a wondrous orgasm crashes over her. “Mmmmm.”

Another laugh from him as she feels her pants and underwear being shoved down. “Condom?”

Languorously she points at her purse. “Front pocket.” Being prepared isn't only for boy scouts.

He has to pull her away from the wall to reach her purse, but in the long run it's worth it. When they hit the wall again it's not as much of a slam, but it's fairly forceful. Before she knows it he's inside her, hips thrusting relentlessly and she'd wonder about that except she's just as caught up in it. Nails digging through his shirt into skin, her own hips under his hands jerking to meet his. A steady stream of moans and sighs escaping her as they hurdle towards something.

A snarl is the only indication she gets that he orgasms, for a moment she can feel wolf teeth pressing against the _very_ vulnerable part of her throat. Then his fingers return, squeezing and pressing her clit to give her a second orgasm.

Feeling worn out she rests her head against as he hoists her up a little higher to carry her towards what she guesses is his room. Still joined, and how he managed that she doesn't really want to know, he sets her on the bed. Laying on top of her only enough that she feels the press and weight of him. He makes a contented rumbling sound, that _purr_ of his. “You wouldn't happen to have another condom in that purse of yours?”

She doesn't know whether to laugh or groan. “No. You want to go again right now?”

He swivels his hips, though that only proves to drive home the fact that he's still flaccid. “There's always later.” Lydia rolls her eyes at that.

“You're insatiable.”

The smile he gives her has lots of teeth. “Why thank you.” He pulls out and maneuvers her so she's got her head on a pillow before walking off. He's not gone for long though, returning and turning her over. Too warm hands going to work on her back.

She wonders briefly if the universe is trying to reward her for all she's lived through with orgasms and massages, if so she finds she'll gladly take them, before humming sleepily. “You're being _too_ nice.”

Peter laughs. “Next time I'll use more teeth. I do have _some_ manners.”

The desire to have a catnap overcomes the urge to snark and she finds herself closing her eyes and relaxing fully under Peter's ministrations. But she's not asleep. “I think you're still trying to distract me.”

“What am I trying to distract you from?” Despite his words his hands don't pause in their massage, pressing and kneading gently.

Fighting back a moan, serious conversation here, she manages to speak. “Whatever idiot idea you have for trying to save Malia.” She feels him tense a little. “Don't say you don't care, you care a little. Otherwise you wouldn't be worried that her name's in the deadpool.” For the moment she won't say that she's damn certain he cares about _her_ a lot more. It's too much for _her_ to deal with.

Peter doesn't sound all that happy when he responds. “Alright, say that I _do_ care. Why would I go out of my way and risk my life to save hers?”

 _Those who play with fire get burned_ , she has to tread carefully otherwise things might get painful for her. “She's a Hale, and that means something to you.” Very. Careful. “When I brought you back from the dead you could have killed Derek to do it. Or killed him afterwards, but you didn't. You could have left Cora to die when the Alphas attacked the hospital, but you didn't.” Lydia shrugs, which feels weird laying down like this. “Malia's life is threatened, but she's a Hale.” She's not going to say anything more on the subject.

His silence is answer enough for Lydia, and she won't push on that subject anymore. “You know if you talked to me I _could_ help, I _am_ the most intelligent person in town.” She tries to keep her tone light.

“What makes you think I need your help?” He doesn't sound _too_ much like a condescending asshole. “I may have everything planned down to the last detail.”

She laughs, because _of course_ Peter has everything planned for, except perhaps. “You do know Malia knows she's a Hale now right? Stiles was an idiot and left the last third of the list in his pocket. Malia found it.”

Her massage stops, seconds later Peter's on the bed next to her one of his arms across her back. “Alright, I didn't plan for that.” He sounds more amused than anything else. “Why are you so curious about my so-called 'plans'? Aren't I a bad, horrible man, who should keel over and die...again?”

Peter's kind of adorable when he fakes petulance. “Better the devil you know right? Anyways my name's on that list too. I'd like to live for as long as possible. Just consider yourself, an alternate means to an end. The fall back plan.” She thinks she might do better in trusting him than the Alpha with a martyr complex.

She turns her head to face him to see that he's smiling. “Dear Lydia, all grown up and cynical. If you really must know...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: lots of Malia things.
> 
> Come join your fellow shippers at [We Conquer Death](http://weconquerdeath.tumblr.com/)!


	7. Chapter 7

Lydia creeps home sometime around one AM, apparently Peter enjoyed using his tongue for more than talking. Slipping her shoes off at the front door she shoos away an excited Prada before padding upstairs. Flicking on her overhead light she bites back a shriek when she sees Malia sitting on her bed—deja vu...roundaboutly. “How long have you been sitting there?” She doesn't _sound_ freaked out, though she has no idea what Malia's senses are picking up.

Malia shrugs. “A few hours, your room smells nice though.” Lydia's fairly certain that's the strangest compliment she's ever gotten. Malia's nose crinkles. “Why do you smell like you mated?”

The question doesn't even phase Lydia as she goes over to her vanity and starts removing her jewelry. “Probably because I had sex.” Lydia decides she isn't going to touch Malia's choice of words. “And why exactly are you here?” She never feels bad about being blunt with Malia. She heads into her bathroom to remove the last of her make up.

“Why didn't any of you tell me about being a Hale?” Malia sits on the toilet, and Lydia wonders how she can be so calm about it. Though knowing Malia she probably already got all her anger out on poor defenseless rabbits before coming here.

“Stiles thought it would be better for you to not know just yet.” Which as far as ideas Stiles has had is definitely in the bottom ten. “To be fair we only found out about you on the dead pool the other night.” Lydia's gotten better at dodging the truth.

“Derek or Peter?”

Lydia barely even pauses in her movements. “What makes you think whichever parent gave you the Hale name is one that's still alive. And what makes you think _I_ know?” It's misdirection sure, but Lydia also means them as honest questions.

Malia shrugs again. “If they were dead why hide it? And you're the banshee.”

She rolls her eyes at Malia through the mirror. “Don't you remember anything I told you? I can't control my powers, and I definitely can't control what I get from them. Maybe Stiles wanted it hidden because at the moment the Hales aren't exactly known for good life choices.” As someone who is fucking one she should know. Though Derek's getting better despite his current loss of power, and Peter _talked_ to her about what he was doing. And really? Teaming up with _Kate_?

“Aright. But you know who it is right?”

Gripping the sink painfully tight Lydia curses Malia's bluntness. It makes her ask questions Lydia can't dodge, and even if she could lie Malia would most likely sense it. Closing her eyes Lydia takes a few bracing breaths. “Yes, I know.”

Malia's tone sounds almost eager. “Then who?”

Lydia almost doesn't answer right away, just to try and teach Malia some patience, but getting it out there seems more important right now. “Peter. Your father is Peter. We don't know about your mother.” All Talia's claws had told her at the time was that Peter hadn't married the woman, whoever she was.

“Does he know?”

“Not back then. Talia took the knowledge from him for some reason, but he knows now.” Lydia forces her fingers to relax and letting go of the sink she moves to sit on the edge of her bathtub, her fingers seemingly discontent with remaining straight curl around the rim. She finds herself curious as to whether or not the white enamel covering the iron core is enough to protect her from said iron. In what little free time she's had she's been trying to find out as much as she can about faeries on her own, though the internet definitely doesn't make it easy, and it's not like the books she's found are any better. Too many conflicting facts, too many interpretations. She's come to the realization she should be asking Jordan about these things but not at the moment, maybe in a day or two.

Irregardless, she wonders what would happen to her health wise if she sold this tub and bought a plain old porcelain one. “Lydia!”

Blinking she refocuses on Malia and gives her a wan smile. “Sorry I got distracted. What did you ask?”

Malia brakes their gaze and stares down at her knees. “I wanted to know your side of things.”

“What?” At the moment Lydia doesn't think she could be any more flabbergasted.

She shrugs. “I know Scott and Stiles' points of view on everything with Peter. And...” Malia makes a face, clearly searching for the right words; Lydia lets her look on her own, Malia will find what she needs to say or she'll try and say it another way.

“And they're kind of the same? When you're writing papers it always good to have at least one completely different opinion right?” She sounds so pleased about that that Lydia can't really say anything against it—then again she's right so saying anything against it would be wrong. “So what do you think about Peter?” Malia scrunches her nose up. “I mean...” she growls, fingers tightening and Lydia wonders if she’s going to have to chastise Malia about not cracking the porcelain. “Is he...” Once again she stops. This time her frustration takes the form of standing up and pacing.

Almost instinctively Lydia stands as well, “Malia?” If there’s a chance of her wolfing...coyoteing?—mentally Lydia rolls her eyes and decides to worry about wordage later—out then they definitely need to leave the bathroom.

Malia groans, and angrily yanks her hands through her hair. “This would be easier if we could howl.”

Feeling that the metaphor of approaching a wounded wild animal is painfully accurate Lydia slowly steps into Malia’s space and grabs her hands. Just as slowly she guides Malia out of the bathroom, feeling a bit more relieved once they’re back in her bedroom. Sitting on her bed she gently tugs Malia down, letting go of her hands once she’s sat. Feeling a brief pang of amusement that she's starting to fulfill her promise to Peter sooner than expected.

“Malia I know you’re frustrated. Can you take a few deep breaths and try to calm down?” Lydia doesn’t feel she can adequately deal with a frustrated were, and feels an actual pang of sympathy for Scott having to deal with Liam. Though it’s not quite the same.

Deciding it’s best not to press her Lydia stays quiet and just lets Malia work out her frustration herself, though at the very least Lydia’s mentally applauding her restraint in not trashing the bedroom—maybe they would have been fine remaining in the bathroom after all.

Eventually though Malia looks calm, well about as calm as she usually does at least. “Uh...thanks. Right?”

Biting back a smile Lydia nods. “You’re welcome. Now, what are you trying to ask me? Take as long as you need to.”

Malia nods, and starts worrying her lip. Moments later she stops and her expression brightens. “Are your experiences with him different?” She grins. “There!”

Once again Lydia has to hold back her smile, especially when it’s the sort of patronizing smile you’d give to a child. “Sweetheart, you have no idea.” Sometimes Lydia wondered if _she_ did, even though he’d been in her mind Peter still eluded her with his thoughts and motivations occasionally. “As for my experience with him, it started at a video store...” Somehow she keeps her tone unemotional, even though inside she feels a mess, especially when they get to Peter’s attack on the lacrosse field.

Though in a way, telling it to Malia makes her feel like it’s happening to someone else, and Lydia’s just as much a bystander to the events as Malia is. They manage to get to Peter's death before Malia actually interrupts. “Is that why Stiles was worried about me finding out? Because he thought I might just start killing everyone? Which is stupid, I'd only kill someone for food and then only if I really had to.”

Lydia laughs, because in its own way Malia's logic makes perfect sense. “Oh sweetie. Peter wasn't killing people just because he could, or because he was rubs-hands-together-and-laughs-manically-evil.” Which probably goes over Malia's head but whatever—they should be pushing her at least a little to understand more cultural things like that. Lydia's certain in the eyes of Scott it probably seemed that way, even though through the murky memories she has from Peter tell her that Scott _knew_ why Peter was killing those people.

“Vendetta's a legitimate reason in the eyes of supernatural beings for them to kill others, even humans.” Part of Lydia wants to start pacing, but she also feels she needs to stick close to Malia. To give herself something to do she starts picking off non-existent threads from her duvet. “From what I’ve read most hunters know about it, but try to stop it.” The reasons, Lydia feels, are obvious. “There are a few who’ll look the other way if the creature in question...argues their case well enough?” It’s not a perfect description, but Lydia feels it gets her point across.

“In the eyes of the supernatural community, it technically was within Peter's rights. Like it was within Derek's rights, in the eyes of supernatural and hunters, to kill Peter before he could kill outside those bounds.” Thinking about that Lydia’s hands curl painfully tight into her duvet; everything else she’s apparently fine with but Allison’s near death by Peter’s hands? Makes her want to go back to the loft and _hurt_ him. “Those who are born supernatural see things differently than everyone else.” It's still strange to realize she's part of that group.

Malia frowns and thumps her head gently against Lydia’s headboard, as if trying to somehow hammer all Lydia's said in. “How do you know all this stuff? Why haven't you told Scott?”

Lydia's smile grows tight. “I know most of it because I've been translating the bestiary.” Which is true, whatever she manages to get from Peter's memories are mostly in-the-moment instinctual bits of knowledge. She's going to avoid answering that second question for as long as possible. “It's also because of the second part of this ordeal...”

—

Over breakfast Saturday morning, well more like brunch considering when she woke up—she and Malia talked into the wee hours of the morning—she debates on whether or not she should ask Danny for help. It's not exactly legal and she knows he tries to be as white hat as possible. Then again saving lives is a good thing.

Resisting the urge to rush through the rest of her breakfast Lydia finishes at a normal pace, _then_ rushes upstairs to finish dressing. Snagging her laptop she shoves it into one of her larger purses. Just as fast she rushes down the stairs. “Mom, I'm going over to Danny's! I've got my phone!”

“Have fun dear.”

A smile tugs at Lydia's mouth as she runs out the door.

This time she doesn't knock on Danny's door, just barges in. “Hi Mr. Mahealani!” She rushes past him up the stairs. She bangs her fist on Danny's door a few times, just to give him a heads up, before opening his door if he's naked, well, it's not anything she hasn't seen before.

Thankfully he's not, though he does look a little panicked at her sudden arrival. “Lydia what?”

With a grin she sets her purse on his desk and pulls out her laptop, “I've got a challenge for you.”

Danny's panicked expression flees in the face of curiosity. “An actual challenge? Or a stupid 'hack someone's phone' challenge?”

With an arched eyebrow she boots up her laptop. “Really Danny? Would I be so gauche? It's a real challenge. Remember the deadpool?”

“You mean the one that nearly got me shot yesterday? Yeah. What about it?” He peers over her shoulder as she brings up the access site. Usually she hates sounding woo-woo about her own powers, but in this case it really did come to her in a dream.

The screen goes dark and familiar green text pops up. “Well some of it's automated and I wanted to know if you could find anything out for me.” Something in her doesn't like that she says 'me' instead of 'us' but, she reminds that part of herself, no one else's suggested they bring this Danny and see what he can get from it.

She really should have thought of it herself sooner, though she wonders what Danny would have been able to do without the access site.

“It's definitely old school. Looks like something out of the eighties.” He nudges her and she gets out of the way, he rolls his chair over and starts typing rapidly. “I'll see what I can do 'Dia.”

She smiles, even though he can't see it. “Thanks.” Making herself at home she grabs a book off his shelf—Pratchett's _Guards! Guards!_ _—_ and sits back on his bed.

About halfway through the book Danny makes a sound of annoyance, one she's well familiar with. Grabbing a scrap of paper from his nightstand she puts it in her place and gets up. “What's wrong?”

“Either I'm not skilled enough for this or you've got something completely unhackable.”

“I didn't think anything was unhackable.”

“If it's on it's own separate server, unconnected to anything you can't hack it unless you can access that server, directly or indirectly. This is obviously connected to the internet. It's like...” She watches Danny struggle to come up with a comparison she'll understand. “It's like I'm speaking modern English and whatever I'm trying to hack into is speaking...proto-English.”

“Old English,” Lydia corrects, because having proper terminology seems important at the moment.

Danny rolls his eyes at her. “Fine. Old English. Anyways, I can understand _maybe_ one word in a hundred if I'm lucky and paying attention. Whoever wrote this program is was either high off their ass, or is you-levels of intelligent, because yeah, I can't get in. Or do much. Sorry.”

Lydia feels her shoulders slump. “Thanks for trying.”

“I can tell you one thing though.”

Lydia feels a bubble of excitement. “What?”

“Where ever this server is, it's somewhere close to Beacon Hills.”

She doesn't know if that's reassuring or more frightening.

—

Peter lets himself sigh audibly when he sees Malia claw open the safe. She whirls around, the files inside already clutched to her chest and narrows her eyes as he steps out of the shadows. “You could have just asked to have it opened you know. That safe's been in the family for generations.” A lie, though an amusing one.

“It's not like I've got a way to contact you. Or should I have howled?” The expression on her face is so cheeky he actually feels a pang of nostalgia.

He lets a smile twitch across his face as he leans back against a pillar. “You could have called Derek, we _do_ live together.” Especially now that he's out of money. “I'm fairly certain he gave you his number after you helped him find Satomi's pack.” He lets his gaze flick down to the file. “I hope you know I can't let you leave with that.”

She rightly tenses. “I don't know, I think I could take you.” It's a childish assertion of strength, one he's going to very quickly correct.

Pushing himself away from the pillar he turns slightly, “I take it you've been listening to Scott and Stiles about me. Comforting fairy tales about how I'm not as strong as I used to be.” Not giving her a chance to respond he calls up the power in him—not as much as when he'd been an Alpha true, but Lydia's a wondrous well to draw from—and punches out a section of the pillar, concrete and dust flying everywhere.

Her heartbeat jumps and quickens as he approaches but all he does is show her his uninjured hand. “See? You shouldn't believe everything they tell you.”

She says nothing, only holds out the file to him. He lets himself sigh again, dear sweet not-clever girl. “I said you couldn't leave with it. I didn't say anything about you not being able to read it.”

Just as quickly as she'd offered it she yanks it back towards her. Flipping it open her eyes rapidly dart everywhere as if she doesn't know what to read first. Not that there's much to be read, Talia's usually meticulous records are disturbingly lacking, a startling disappointment from beyond her grave. The birth certificate has nothing more personal about her than _'Malia_ ' and a date of birth ' _November 28, 1994_ ', then the usual spew of medical data.

Informationally speaking the adoption record hold even less, for all that it cost him more to get, though the rent in it from the Mute's attack certainly doesn't help. Malia come to the same conclusion. “There's nothing here.” She sounds angry, just as angry about it as he'd first felt going through them.

“Yes, yes I know. It disappointed me too. I paid all that money for it.” When he finds the Benefactor he's going to make their death as slow as possible because of what they did. Though why, why, why is he not on the list too? It's not as much of a relief as he would have thought really.

She closes the folder with a disappointing _swish-wobble_. “Yeah well you got ripped off.”

Rolling his eyes, no need to restate his own words, he finally takes the folder back. “Mmmm, I'll be sure to file a complaint with my PI.” Going to a nearby shelving unit he sets the file down, now that the safe's useless there's no point in putting it back. Turning back to face her he crosses his arms. “Any questions?” He makes an exaggerated 'woe is me' face. “Why didn't you tell me? Why'd you give me up for adoption?”

Malia's 'bitch please' face is actually quite impressive. “No. Lydia already told me about that.”

Which actually manages to stun him into silence, for a little bit. “Lydia told you?” _Lydia_ , who might be fucking him but probably doesn't trust him as far as she can throw him. Even if she knows _exactly_ what he's planning.

“Yeah.” Malia fidgets and he's not sure if it's nerves or some tic she picked up from Stiles. “I waited at her house for hours to ask her about it, since she knows things. She told me about you being my dad and not knowing it and then I asked her about her side of things and...” She shrugs as if that explains everything.

Then again he's quite impressed she did that, _maybe she is his daughter after all_. “Since you seem so interested in story time, would you like to hear my side? Straight from the mouth of babes as it were. Granted we might want to go out and get something to eat since even if we skip over the memory gaps and the six year coma it'll take a while.”

Her nose wrinkles in a way that should be familiar he thinks. Which might be the most disturbing thing about her from his perspective, that she has mannerisms that _should_ be familiar but aren't. _Thank you Talia for making_ wonderful _choices_ for _me._ He has no idea what sort of father he’d have been, but Talia taking that possibility away from him hurts more than not having the opportunity to raise Malia himself.

“Lydia told me a lot of that too,” she shrugs. “If you want I'll listen.” If she's spending so much time around Stiles she should understand sarcasm right? Maybe he should thank her for being so magnanimous.

“I'll grant you Lydia's a better source for knowledge about me than say Scott or Stiles.” Though he'd hope Scott would remember the memories of the fire he planted in him; or had he somehow managed to block them through sheer force of goodness? “Even she can't really tell you what I experienced. How I clawed my way out of a catatonic state, why I killed those people.”

“Vendetta.” She supplies.

Which he thinks is proof enough that Lydia doesn't quite trust him, because she either plucked that from his memories or read it in the bestiary but either way she didn't tell him. Granted he didn’t expect her to tell him everything, but a little demonstration of understanding on her part would go a long ways. He inclines his head in acknowledgment, a hand rising up to trace the still familiar spiral in the air—even if she has no idea as to it’s meaning—incomplete still because he'd been a fool and didn't finish the job with Kate. “Yes. My right. They burned my family and me alive. They had to die. The world needed to know being a Hale still meant something...still _means_ something.”

Sometimes he feels like he’s the only Hale, not that they’re plentiful these days, who thinks that way. Peter remembers the security found in having name that was respected, even by hunters.

He’s sure Malia could care less about those sorts of musings. “What do you say? Shall we have some father-daughter bonding time? Maybe go on a road trip and learn a useful life lesson?” He can’t quite keep the biting sarcasm from his tone, but in this case he thinks being so off-hand might be good. True she is blood, but that doesn’t change the fact that he _doesn’t know her_. He doesn’t know the way she thinks, or how she’ll react to situations. He can’t trust himself to trust her; he might even tell her that...later.

Malia shifts, moving a little ways away from him and glancing towards a cluttered shelf as if she finds it infinitely fascinating. Her scent changes too, too fast for him to pick out individual emotions, like she’s not quite sure how to react or feel at those words. He thinks, overall, the feeling’s mutual.

She picks up a jar of yarrow leaves, and turns it in her hands. “Do you know anything about my mom?” It comes out in a rush, even with his hearing it’s almost impossible to pick out the individual words. Her scent settles a little: eager, and nervous and expectant.

He doesn't sigh, because he knew this question would come up at some point, and it fact he's keen to know the answer himself. “I don't _remember_ anything.” Malia's disappointed face doesn't phase him. “I've asked around and I believe I've got a intriguing moniker.”

Malia perks up, stepping towards him. “What is it?”

“The Desert Wolf.” He finds himself smiling for no reason he can discern.

With a sort of carelessness that makes him internally wince she puts the jar down. She gets right up in his space and bares her teeth. “Tell me everything.”

It’s a little cute, the way she thinks she’s actually threatening. “Alright.”

—

Malia returns later in the day, surprising Lydia. Thought this time she didn't suddenly appear in her bedroom. In fact she _knocked_ on the _front door_. So yes, Lydia thinks she's allowed to be surprised for a few seconds. Eventually she brings herself to speak. She almost says 'what's up' before remembering sayings like that still confused Malia some times. “Is there anything wrong? Or did you just come to visit?”

Malia shrugs. “Visit...I guess?” She wrinkles her nose like she's caught a bad smell. “I talked to Peter this afternoon.”

Well then. Lydia steps aside and gestures for Malia to come in. “You hungry?”

Another shrug. “No.”

Lydia lets herself sigh. “If you have a definite answer Malia you don't shrug,” she manages to not sound too chiding. “Have you ever tried tea?” Lydia makes a mental note to talk to Stiles about what he's introduced Malia too, and the fact her...'reeducation' should be a group project. She leads the way into the kitchen.

This time she gets a shake of the head in response. “What's it like?”

“Um.” Lydia's never really been asked to compare tea to something before. Malia takes one of the seats at the island, clearly watching Lydia's actions. “It's kind of like fruit juice, except it's hot, and usually made from leaves and not fruit.” Which is a horrible description, but also the most likely one for Malia to have reference to.

Malia slumps until her chin's resting on the tile counter, long arms stretched out before her and nearly reaching the other side. “I'll try it, I guess.”

Pulling down a pot Lydia decides to do chamomile, not quite as bitter as a lot of the teas she has, and they could use some calming. As she waits for the water to boil she decides she may as well ask. “How did things go with Peter?” She hadn't expected them to come in contact so quickly, especially considering everything that had happened yesterday.

“Alright?” Malia's shrug at least is more appropriate than the last one. “He's strange.”

Lydia lets herself laugh. “Really? I wouldn't have guessed.”

Malia's brow furrows and Lydia has to remember sarcasm usually goes over her head. “You told me he was different.”

“Sorry, that was sarcasm. I'll try not to use it again. What did you talk about?” She pours the water into the pot, watching the chamomile start to float and move.

“My mom, him, he let me see the adoption records. They weren't all that helpful.” Malia sighs. “I thought things like that were supposed to be helpful.”

Lydia shrugs as she gets two mugs down, and has to remind herself no sarcasm. “Most of the time records can be. I don't know about supernatural records. For all we know Talia didn't know what you were when she put you up for adoption.” Though if Lydia finds out the opposite is true she might break something. Knowing a child was supernatural and putting them with humans and not telling said humans? On the general scale of ideas that's a bad one.

“Peter said he's asked around and he thinks he's found a name. Apparently she's called the Desert Wolf.”

Appropriate for a possible werecoyote. “Anything else?”

Malia sits up straight watching curiously as Lydia pours out the tea. “Just that I shouldn't trust him until he knows me better. Why would he say that? Shouldn't it be until _I_ know him better?”

How best to explain? Lydia wraps her hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth. Now she's the one watching as Malia picks up her own mug and brings it up to her face, sniffing. “Don't drink it yet, you'll scald your tongue.” Malia recoils as if just sniffing it's enough to scald herself. “Peter...Peter does mean it that way.”

Lydia wonders if she should go farther, then decides they've kept enough for Malia and it might help her to understand as best she can. “Peter wants to trust you because you're family, albeit family he didn't know about until recently. He's been hurt before by family and so he's torn. So yes, he wants to know what kind of person you are before he'll trust you implicitly.” She hopes Peter doesn't mind she's said that, if he ever finds out.

Malia's frowning, staring into her tea like it might have all the answers—she hasn't even drunk it yet and she's already got the pensive drinker look down. “I...maybe understand that.” Her shoulders slump and she growls, as if annoyed with her own lack of comprehension. “Why are people so confusing?”

Loosening her grip on her mug Lydia gives a rueful chuckle. “We confuse ourselves Malia, there really is no good answer to that.” Feeling enough time's past Lydia dips her pinky in to test the temperature of the tea. Perfect. “Watch what I do.” Raising her mug to her face she blows on the liquid before taking a sip. The warm tea feels heavenly as it slides down her throat and she gives a contented sigh.

Brow furrowed with more concentration than needed Malia copies her, blinking in what's most likely surprise. She quickly takes another sip. “That's...strange. Sweet. I like that it's warm though.”

Lydia doesn't answer, content to just enjoy her own tea and watch Malia experience something for the first time. She's pouring out more tea when Malia squirms in a way that indicates she's either in pain or wants to ask something potentially uncomfortable. Relaxing back into her own chair Lydia grips her mug a little tighter. “Is there something you want to ask?”

Malia actually _blushes_. “Um...what does it mean that I'm bleeding...down there?”

Flabbergasted Lydia can't do anything more than open and close her mouth for a few seconds before realizing that _holy shit she was going to have to give the puberty talk to an eighteen year old girl_. “Down there is your vagina sweetheart. And it's called menstruation, are you doing it right now?” She might have some pads in her bathroom she could give to Malia—she didn't know how ready Malia would be for tampons.

Another squirm. “Yes.”

Setting her mug down Lydia stands. “Come with me.” They troop up to her bathroom and she rummages around giving a little triumphant noise when she finds pads. “Any chance you have a clean pair of underwear?” She is _not_ going to think about the particulars of that question.

Malia gives a relieved nod and pulls a pair out from her pocket. “I'm running out though, 'cause I've been tossing them away since they always end up covered in blood. I asked my dad to buy me more, but he smelled uncomfortable, and it’s not like I can steal anything from Stiles anymore” She looks at Lydia for a moment, before quietly asking. “Do you have any more of Allison’s clothes?”

The question doesn’t hurt, at least not like she’d thought it would. More a fond ache than anything else. It had been a impulse the other month to give Malia Allison’s stuff; part of her had just wanted the boxes out her room, to stop being a constant reminder. “No, sorry.”

“Does it stop?” Malia's question quickly drags her back to the present and mostly away from her grief.

 _Oh God_. As quickly as possible Lydia explains pads, and that yes, periods did have an end, and leaves to let Malia to try them out. As she paces her room Lydia finds herself running her hands through her hair, bringing her hands back down to her sides she clenches them. On the whole this is the most laughable situation for her to be in at the moment, as if the universe wanted to give her a simple problem in the most frustrating way possible.

An unintended thread of dread creeps into Lydia, _if Malia didn't know about this what else?_ Shaking off the dread as silly she knocks on the bathroom door. “Hey Malia?”

There's some rustling. “Yeah?”

Taking a deep bracing breath, because knowing the answer might scar her for life, she bites the bullet. “Are you and Stiles having sex?”

The next few seconds of silence are some of the worst of Lydia's life. “What's sex?”

Lydia bites back some hysterical laughter. “Malia I'm going to be right back okay?”

“Alright.”

On auto pilot Lydia leaves her room and heads downstairs. Prada's there, apparently realizing in his little brain that the strange smelling coyote isn't going to eat him. When he notices she's heading towards the back door he trots after her, darting out the door before she can to a corner of the lawn. Leaving him to his business Lydia heads out the back gate towards the skinny stretch of preserve that runs through the neighborhood.

When she feels she's a good enough distance away, though Malia will still probably be able to hear her as well as whomever other supernatural people might be near, she throws her head back and lets out a scream. Nothing banshee about it, just a good old fashioned scream of general frustration.

As it trails off she feels worlds better. Walking back to her house she checks to see if she has her phone and gratefully pulls it out.

Pulling out her phone she sends Kira a text.

 _You are going to drop everything and come over_ now _. I am_ not _giving Malia the sex talk by myself._

—

Malia runs. She likes the way her body feels as it pounds through the preserve. It's almost, but not quite, as good as when she'd run as a coyote. She's found that running while human helps her organize her thoughts. After everything Kira and Lydia, not to mention Peter, have told her she needs to get her thoughts in order.

Human minds are strange, human bodies don't make sense. It makes her more resolved than ever to become a coyote again, even if it means never finding anything about her mother or staying with Stiles—why would he do that?—she'd picked _him_ to be her mate these next few years, you didn't do that to a mate.

She's not exhausted but she stops running anyways. She's out by the ridge where she and Derek had found Satomi's dead pack and with a sigh she sits down, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Below her Beacon Hills looks bright but small, and not at all like the sort of place where assassins kill supernatural creatures for stupid reasons like money.

Her legs swing as she turns her gaze up to the stars and the half full moon. Behind her is the familiar sounds of the preserve, as well as the sounds of someone walking towards her. She doesn't need to turn to know who it is. “Did they send you to find me?”

Derek sits down next to her. “No. I mean I know Stiles is looking for you, but I wasn't specifically asked to find you.” He makes a face and she can smell something like dissatisfaction on him. “Not that anyone's asking me to do much these days.” That's right, he's loosing his powers. Turning human.

She turns so that she's facing him completely. “Why didn't you tell me?”

He turns to face her too. “Tell you what?”

“That you and I are related!” Not that she's been around Derek a lot but he seemed the sort of person who didn't leave things like that alone.

The shock on his face and in his scent is obvious. “What?!”

There's a strange relief in knowing she's not the last person to know. “We’re related. The Tates are my adopted parents. Peter’s my father.” On the whole it’s not a _strange_ concept. She’s helped raised pups that aren’t hers, and very rarely taken over rearing completely. She shrugs, she might not have gotten used to it yet but she’s accepted it. “I just found out yesterday.” Her tone turns bitter. “Stiles and Scott were keeping it from me.”

The moment those words are out of her mouth she’s being pulled into a hug. She makes an annoyed yip at being so unceremoniously put off balance. Derek makes a strangely comforting growl, his cheek brushing against hers in an achingly familiar way.

“I don’t know if I should have known or guessed earlier. They should have told you sooner, and if I’d know _I_ would have told you.”

To her the words feel a little empty, but his actions convince her and she finds herself relaxing. Soon she finds herself responding to his actions in kind, rubbing her own cheeks against his and taking in his scent: pine and loam and a briny smell she thinks might be the ocean but since the last time she went there was before the crash she’s not sure.

She’s also not sure how long they stay like that, but it’s nice. However, however there’s a question she needs answered. “Are we...are we all killers?” Peter killed all of those people who burned his family, Derek killed Peter and had been forced to kill one of his betas. Lydia’s words drift back to her “ _Maybe they didn’t want you knowing because the Hales aren't known for good life choices.”_   Malia finds herself wondering what the rest of the Hales had been like.

“Of people? We don’t have to be, but we can. It all depends on the circumstances.”

She clings tighter, because while she likes the honesty that’s not what she’s looking for. “I think Stiles didn’t tell me because he thinks I might turn out like Peter.” The only clear memory she has of before she was a coyote flickers through her mind. “He might be right.” She’d screamed at them and wished them dead and then they were and...an uncomfortable feeling makes itself at home in her gut. Realizing she’s digging her claws into Derek’s jacket she loosens her grip.

For a while Derek doesn’t say anything, but he does change their positions so they’re laying on the ground looking up at the stars. Eventually he does speak. “What makes you think that?”

A whine of distress builds in her throat but she forces it down— _humans_ don’t make those sorts of sounds. “It’s just...that night the car crashed I got angry, angrier than I can ever remember being. I shouted and screamed and nothing my mom could do would calm me down. I remember...I remember it go to the point where I was screaming that I wished she and my sister were dead.” Mom had slapped her in response. Then dragged her to the car, telling her she was taking her to her father.

On the drive there something inside her had snapped.

“Was it a full moon?” Derek’s question probably shouldn’t be surprising but it is.

“Yes?” Since that’s not a definite answer she shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t really remember those sorts of things.”

He makes a soothing noise at the back of his throat. “It probably was, from the way you described it. Full moons when we’re young or newly turned are difficult. I think the only reason Scott’s first full moon wasn’t a train wreck was because he’d been bitten the day before, and he hadn’t completely finished transforming. But his second one...well he was kind of an asshole.”

She can’t really picture it, Scott’s just _too_ good.

“My own full moons, especially around puberty weren’t fun. I got locked up a lot, didn’t really have all that much control, and yeah, I got angry a lot too. Said a lot of things I didn’t mean, but my family understood and forgave me. Full moons lower our inhibitions and filters, make us do and say things we normally wouldn’t.”

 _This_ is what she wanted to hear, that what happened to her wasn’t anything special. That other like her knew and understood what she’d gone through.

Derek surprises her by turning his head and kissing her forehead. “Saying those things doesn’t make you a killer. The accident might be your fault, but that doesn’t mean you’re to blame.” Just barely she can see him frown. “Your mom should have known what would happen to you during a full moon.”

Malia lets herself scoot closer. He wasn’t as warm as he should have been, but there’s comfort in having another body so close to hers. “Thank you.”

He snorted. “No problem, anyways what else are cousins for?”

She knows that’s one of those questions you’re not supposed to answer, and his words cause a warmth to grow in her chest.

She might not know about how to feel about Peter being her father, but she thinks she’s okay with calling Derek her cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So probably a bit slow compared to some chapters but, I feel it's a useful one.
> 
> Next week: Jordan, Lydia, and the lakehouse.
> 
> Come join your fellow shippers at [We Conquer Death](http://weconquerdeath.tumblr.com/)!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so I nearly forgot it was Sunday today...oops, I guess I was too excited about winning NaNoWriMo, and caught up in trying to figure out what to do in chapter 13.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter though, lots of good Marrish stuff.

Her phone goes off unexpectedly Sunday afternoon, and she nearly knocks it off her vanity in her rush to answer. She doesn't recognize the number but she knows she should answer anyways. “Hello?”

“Lydia, it's me Parrish.”

“Jordan, good afternoon.” She hopes for whatever reason he's called it's not to tell her about yet another horrible crisis.

“Afternoon. Is this a good time?”

She glances at the bottles of nail polish she'd lined up, she could just do it later. “Sure. What's up?”

“Look, I uh, got Meredith's effects released from Eichen house.” _Oh_. “Do you want them?”

“I,” certainty fills her. “Yes. I'll be right over.” She hangs up before he can answer and taking a few deep breaths she saves Jordan's number in her contacts. Once she feels composed enough she gets up, slips her shoes on, and heads out.

Jordan's waiting for her at the front desk, a storage box in his hands. “Here.” He holds it out.

Arching an eyebrow she takes it, disturbed at how light it is. “Shouldn't I be signing my life away before you give this to me.”

Pink faintly stains his cheeks. “Actually I signed for all of it. Technically it's mine, but I felt you might want a look through them.”

“Oh.” Now she's the one blushing. “Thank you. Uh...since they're yours do you want to come with me? I mean, I...don't really want to be alone right now.” It escapes her in a bit of a rush, but she's not going to regret saying it, he's calming. He'll protect her if he needs to.

Dear lord, even his _ears_ turn pink. “I uh...have work.” Disappointment flares through her and it must show on her face because Jordan quickly backtracks. “But I'm sure Stilinski will give me the rest of the day off if I ask him.”

Lydia gives a tiny nod.

He goes off back into the bullpen and she retreats to an out of the way part of the entrance, the too light box in hand; part of her wants to tear it open right then and there, as if seeing what's inside will tell her why there's clearly not enough to encompass all of Meredith Walker's life.

Before she can entertain any more of those thoughts Jordan returns, slipping on a jacket. “Do you want to drive or I?”

She holds the box back out to him. “I'll drive.” He dutifully follows her to her car and gets in. As she pulls out of the station part of their conversation on Friday comes back. She drums her fingers against the steering wheel for a few moments as she merges into traffic, before she finally asks. “You said you'd explain glamour to me.”

He gives a soft snort. “I guess I did, didn't I? Normally I'd try and give a practical demonstration, but since you're driving we'll hold off on that until later if you really want to see it.”

“Thanks for that.” She starts taking the route to the lake house on autopilot, and how sad is that that she can get to the lake house without even thinking about it? “The five minute explanation will do just fine.”

“We should turn back and start over then 'cause this might take seven.”

His tone's so deadpan that it takes her a second to realize he's joking. Laughter burst forth from her, and despite the situation she feels lighter. Taking a hand off the wheel she reaches over and gives him a light shove. “Shut up and talk.”

“The paradox of my life. Alright, so glamour can take one of two forms. The first straight up illusion, like a mirage in that it looks completely real until you're right there and touching it. It can be put on anything: people, places, things and take any form. Making yourself look more attractive, making something look like it's something else, etc.”

She finds herself baring her teeth at a driver who nearly cuts her off.

Jordan takes her bout of road rage in stride, which seems odd for a deputy. “The second form is more like hypnotism: an added omph, if you will, to your words, making people more likely to agree with you or to do what you're asking them to do. Case in point me with the CDC agents. I wanted a suit and I didn't want them to ask questions and that's exactly what I got. It doesn’t have as many limitations, but the ramifications can be worse. At the very least you can addict someone to it, their mind can’t function without the glamour.”

“There’s something worse than addiction?” Which feels a bit like a stupid question, because _of course_ there are things worse than addiction.

“You can drive the person you’re glamouring insane, if they’re human.”

Even though she's alone on the road she still clicks her turn signal as she turns onto the driveway that meanders to the lake house. “Every faerie can do this?” It’s a little terrifying to contemplate, the sort of thing that makes her surprised the supernatural haven’t been discovered yet—but then again when you can make someone believe they haven’t seen anything maybe it’s no surprise at all.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him shrug. “The strength varies from fae to fae, but yes. It's an innate talent that's helped us to survive as long as we have.”

The lake house is as boring and placid as ever, Lydia'll be glad when they've finally sold it. As she's unlocking the front door her phone rings. With a tiny sigh she give Parrish Meredith's box again and pulls her phone out, grimacing when she sees Stiles' name. She still hits the 'answer' button. “What now?”

If he's put off by her tone it doesn't seem to stop him. “Hi Lydia! So! In the general tone of sharing things and telling other people about plans...we'rekindofplanningonkillingScott.”

She nearly drops her phone, and she's kind of glad Jordan's the only one around to observe her awkward fumble. “What?!”

“Hey! It's the best plan we could come up with to draw the Benefactor out! Tell him about a kill but don't provide visual confirmation, force him to come and see for himself.” His voice goes a little sharp, clearly offended—and she hadn’t actually said much of anything.

Lydia starts pacing, she can't help it she needs to do _something_ otherwise she's liable to start throwing priceless objects into walls, or through windows. “No Stiles! That's the complete opposite of a 'best plan'.” She makes a noise of frustration. “Okay fine, _how_ are you planning on doing this?”

“Kira's gonna do her kitsune magic and we'll run him to the hospital.” She's not sure if them doing it in such a public place is a good or bad thing, on one hand lots of witnesses, on the other hand lots of possible victims. Then again most of the assassin's haven't killed any, or many, civilians—she guesses that comes with the territory of being a 'professional'.

She stops and takes a deep breath. “Alright, is there a time limit? How are you going to bring him back?” Which out of all the questions seems the most important, even if she wonders if she's even really a part of the pack.

“We've figured forty minutes, and Kira's gonna do her kitsune magic.” His tone's so 'duh' it's annoying.

“Good luck with that then.” Before he can respond to that she hangs up, takes yet another deep breath and rubs the bridge of her nose for a few seconds, then steps inside.

“You alright?” Oh good, Jordan'd closed the door behind them.

“Yes, no. I just...” Somehow, actually no not _somehow_ she just _does_ it, she relays what Stiles told her to Jordan while also composing a text to Peter, because if anyone needed to know about this current run of shenanigans it was him. Sending the text off she pockets her phone. “I could use a drink? Could you?” Though even as she suggests it she finds herself debating on whether or not 'drink' means alcohol or tea these days.

She actually jumps in surprise when she feels Jordan’s hands wrap around her wrists, a quick glance tells her he set Meredith’s box down by a side table, his thumbs already rubbing soothing circles over her pulse. “Lydia, close your eyes and take more deep breaths, or you’ll give yourself an hysteric.”

While she does close her eyes, she only takes two deep breaths before speaking again. “You know hysteric is an inherently sexist word, because _clearly_ only women can become overly emotional and overwrought. All the Victorian connotations don’t help, and neither does the fact that it means ‘wandering womb’ because the Greeks were bizarre like that.” Stiles isn’t the only one who can sometimes rattle off useless information.

“Alright then, close your eyes and take deep breaths otherwise you’ll drive yourself crazy with pointless worry.” She can hear the smile in his voice. “Now come on, what’s worrying you about all this?”

Lydia lets herself sink to the floor, because she doesn’t think she can stand for a moment longer, dragging Jordan along with her. “It’s just that, Scott and Stiles have both said I’m part of the pack, but when it gets time to make decisions or plans they never ask me for anything. They’ve already decided to do this stupid idiotic plan, but they never got in touch with me earlier to ask if I had any suggestions for drawing the Benefactor out.”

“Do you, have any suggestions?” Jordan sounds as calm and steady as ever and she appreciates that.

“No.” Her breathing’s turning shaky and she’s afraid she might start crying. “That doesn’t mean I can’t contribute. I would have talked them out of _this_ plan; so they tell the Benefactor they can’t provide visual confirmation, so what? Do they think that’d be enough to draw him out? If they can’t provide confirmation that just means the Benefactor doesn’t have to pay them, and if Scott’s actually dead than so much the better. Then he can reallocate that 25 million to other people on the list, or use it to make a new part.”

Which is what really worries her, because Peter’s not in the deadpool, and neither are the Mahealani’s. As far as they know they’ve decoded all of the deadpool. Why is Derek on the list when he’s basically human now? What’s the difference?

Jordan surprises her by pulling her into a hug. “Hey, you'll be okay. I'll be there whenever you need me, and I'd hope Peter would too since you're together.”

She lets herself relax into the hug and return it. She does find his words comforting, because _someone_ will be there for her. Before she can thank Jordan her phone buzzes, letting her know she's got a text. Untangling herself from Jordan she looks down to see it's Peter.

 _I don't know if I should be afraid or thank them for doing us all a favor. I'll try and encourage Kate to head over, see if we can kill two birds with one stone._ She can't help the lip twitch.

Her phone buzzes again. _I_ _'d suggest staying away from the hospital for the foreseeable future._

“Everything alright?”

She looks back up at him. “Yeah. Things are okay now.” Though part of her is hesitant in trusting Peter to not go overboard. Beacon Hills General hasn't had the best track record recently. Putting her phone away she slowly stands, then walks over and picks up the box. “Come on.” She heads up the stairs.

Jordan follows her up to the soundproof room, giving a small start of surprise when she closes the door, cutting off what little sound there is outside. “That's unusual.”

Laughing weakly she sits in front of the record player setting Meredith's box next to her. Jordan sits on her other side and she finds herself glancing at him. “Have you look through these yet?”

He shakes his head. “No, I, uh, thought it would be a little rude.”

Her laughter turns brittle and harsh. “Jordan, she's _dead_.”

Jordan shrugs. “Doesn't mean I still can't be polite, there are ghosts after all and you never know who'll come back and when.”

His words resonate strangely in her and there's a strange, foolish hope that Allison might be such a person.

Putting her hands on the tape holding the box closed she starts picking at it so she can tear it away. Next to her Jordan clears his throat and she turns slightly to see him offering her a small pocket knife. Taking it with a grateful smile she pulls the blade out and starts cutting the tape. When she finishes she closes the knife and hands it back before taking a deep breath.

She lifts the lid in an even measured pace, in a way it feels like she's turned this into a ritual of some sort. Once she's set the lid aside she glances in the box, enough to see how woefully few items are in, before reaching in and grabbing one.

An old fashioned perfume bottle, the sort Lydia's only ever seen in equally old cartoons before now, almost completely empty; she brings it up to her nose and inhales: roses and oranges. Setting it aside she reaches in again.

Dried roses, tied together with a pink silk ribbon, in a bouquet. They're old and fragile enough that Lydia fears if she hold them for too long they'll crumble. She wonders where and how and why Meredith got them. And again.

A little stuffed dog, the kind you could win at a carnival booth, and a black and white photo of Meredith. The dog is surprisingly unworn, making it feel like it was more for display than comfort. And again.

There's nothing else inside. The life of Meredith Walker contained in only four objects. She looks over them for a moment, at a loss for words.

A few deep breaths later she feels relatively collected and starts talking, uncaring of Jordan's presence. “I'm sorry Meredith.” Even if she doesn't completely feel it she means it. “I should have tried...smarter to figure things out on my own. I just...”Her voice breaks.

This time when Jordan tries to offer comfort she bats his hand aside, she can't take his comfort not now. “I just wish I had someone who could help me, who could have helped you. I want to _understand_.” Feeling like she's on autopilot Lydia reaches out, not to Jordan but to the record player. Her hands however don't turn it on, they pick the record up and lift it off the player.

Her eyes wander over it as if the vinyl itself can give her all the answers, though she doesn't know how that'd be possible, considering there was next to nothing on it, even when you played it.

“What's that?” Her heart jumps and races at Jordan's question; she'd almost forgotten he was there.

She almost answers with 'a record' because it nearly amuses her, but instead she goes with: “I'm not really sure, I played it once and it helped me find out the first cypher key but after that all I got was static and gibberish. Like I could only listen to it once.” An impulse to break it flickers through her, but it's gone so fast she doesn't even have enough time to properly react to it. “It had to be here for a reason, no one makes a record of static and gibberish for no reason...at least normal people don't.”

To go through the process of pressing your own record and putting on those things? There _had_ to be a reason. If only she knew more, she didn't even know how mom had gotten the lake house, or who'd had it before her. Gaps in her own knowledge of her not-family that makes her think she should maybe fill them. How would she ask Natalie, mom, about that? _Why do we own a record that has nothing on it? Why do we have a soundproof room? Why haven't you ever told me about my not-grandparents?_

Maybe if she knew more about her banshee powers she’d know the answers. Her nails scratch the record as she tightens her grip. A lot of things might make more sense if she had more answers: herself, the Benefactor, Peter, Scott’s current run of actions.

 _Too many questions, not enough answers._ She’s fairly certain she could make that the mantra of her life. She sighs.

“Maybe...maybe that reason has nothing to do with you, but with someone else.” Jordan speaking surprises her into dropping the record, the rim hits the carpet silently then equally silent the rest of it follows. “Maybe you using it was just happenstance.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.” Not that she wants Jordan to hold her hand through everything.

He shrugs. “Wasn’t really meant to be. Not everything in the world revolves around you. And not everything has a reason,” his tone turns quiet. “Sometimes things just happen with no explanation.”

Lydia thinks it’s safe to read into that that something happened to Jordan and that maybe he was still searching for an answer as to why. With a soft sigh she starts putting away Meredith's belonging with the same reverence she had taking them out. The perfume bottle, the roses, the dog. Picking up the photo she actually looks at it, Meredith in black and white standing in front of a wall, looking shy and nervous. She moves to put it in the box and freezes.

“What is it?”

She moves the photo so it lines up with one of the walls of the room, did it really matter which when they all looked the same? “Does this photo look like it was taken in here?”

His hand moves to take it from her and she lets him. Watching him stare at the photo for probably much longer than he actually needed to. “It's more likely than not?” He shrugs. “You could ask you mom.”

“She's not my mom,” it leaves Lydia's mouth before she can stop it. “ _H_ _ow_ would I ask her. 'Mom do you know why a girl who's been in a mental institution for who knows how long was here long enough to get her picture taken?'” Lydia knows she's contradicting herself, saying Natalie's not her mom and then referring to her as such a sentence later, but Lydia thinks she's allowed to be confused. Was there a Changeling support group? Fae counseling?

Jordan holds out the photo, seemingly unconcerned by her words. “Wouldn't hurt to ask her when you get the chance.”

Lydia takes the photo back. “Why don't we look around first? See what we can find.” There had to be _some_ reference to Meredith if she was here...right? A part of her sighs and wishes she could go back to yesterday's simple problems.

“If that's what you want.” It kind of amazes her how easygoing he's been about everything, she's used to dealing with Stiles who asks about a hundred questions a minute. Jordan seems content to go along with everything she suggests, within reason. She's sure if it came down to it he'd step up and make the hard choices, but he seems to prefer letting others make decisions.

For some reason this doesn't stress out Lydia as much as she'd thought it would. Someone's trusting her to make decisions of some sort. She turns to leave but halfway through she stops and frowns. “There used to be a stain here.” She narrows her eyes at the spot it should have been in.

“What?” Jordan sounds about as confused as she feels.

“The night after we first met. I kind of had to throw a party here, someone got into my grandmother's wine cellar and opened a few bottles. Some of it spilled in here, I remember freaking out about it because we're trying to sell the house and stains make it less likely.” Walking a few steps she kneels where she's pretty sure the stain should be. “It's not here anymore.”

Jordan joins her, one of his hands running through the carpet for a few moments. “Maybe someone cleaned it up?”

Lydia shakes her head. “Mom and I are the only ones who have keys to the place and she hasn't been here since...a week after the last full moon?” How is this her life that she's keeping track of events by when they happened in relation to the full moon? “The last time I was here was last Sunday.” This time realizing it's only been a week since everything seemed to _really_ start, is more of a shock than it had been yesterday.

Staring at the pristine carpet she feels at loose ends. “There was a stain here, I swear.”

He meets her eyes, “I believe you Lydia. Here.” He takes her hands in his own. “You can show me.”

Before she can ask what he means he continues. “Close your eyes. Picture the whole thing in your mind: size, shape, what it felt like if you touched it, how it smelled, the colors.” Lydia felt her eyes slide close as he spoke, his calm even tone unhurried. She gives a little start when he puts her hands on the carpet, her fingers curling and grabbing some of the fibers.

It's easy to recall the stain, how she'd felt so stressed that she over-reacted. In a way feeling like Lady Macbeth, no matter how hard she worked the stain wouldn't come out. How it looked a little like old blood, dark and a smidge brown. “Okay, I've got it.”

“Now just...let the image out. Picture it on the carpet, or whatever works best for you.” Jordan's tone grows a little annoyed, not with her but with himself she thinks.

However she's sure she gets at least his intention. Thinks to herself _when I open my eyes the stain's going to be on the carpet right where it should be._ Exhaling she opens her eyes and looks. The stain's exactly where she remembers it being, though there's something a little off to it. Reaching out to touch it it shimmers away.

Jordan grins at her. “Good job.”

Pride fills her as she flushes at the praise. “It didn't stay long.” The fact that she _did_ something is accomplishment enough for her at the moment.

“That's alright, it'll get easier with practice.” He stands and offers her a hand up. “Now come on we should see what we can find about Meredith.”

Right. Taking his hand she stands and returns to the record player where she'd set the photo. Scooping it up and then heading for the door. It's almost a relief to leave the soundproof room, it's been filled with so many negative emotions and connotations that stepping out of it feels like breathing in fresh air.

It makes her feel like more's possible and she almost eagerly heads for the stairs, and almost, but not quite, bounce down them. The creaks almost musical sounding.

They're noisy enough that she can tell when Jordan joins her on them. “Lydia.”

His tone makes her stop in the middle of the stairs and turn back up to face him. “Yes?”

He takes a few steps down. “This is probably something I should have told you in our first conversation...”

Lydia arches an eyebrow “Considering I wasn’t buying what you were selling at the time it might have made things worse.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in a smile. “Regardless I should have told you. You’re not just any old changeling or, to be perfectly honest, I might not have told you.” He pauses, a thoughtful look on his face. She feels a strange, curious feeling rising in her chest. “Or I might have, fae banshee are rare, and you’d be be an asset to whichever court had you in its ranks.”

“How many courts are there?” Sure she wants to know what he’s trying to get at, but she also finds herself curious about the fae and everything to do with them; from a more accurate source than the internet and books.

An expression she finds she can’t parse crosses his face. “There are two: Winter and Summer. I myself am a knight of Winter.”

She supposes if they truly aren’t human it makes more sense to delineate between them elementally/seasonally than with a good-evil scale like she’s sometimes seen applied. “As a knight are you allowed to do as you please and go where you will?” There's some amusement about the fact she’s referred to him in terms of a knight without knowing he actually was one.

The earlier smile returns. “No. I’m here because of a mission to queen sent myself and many of my fellows on. Which neatly brings us back to the point.” Once again he descends more stairs, enough this time that he’s below her but at eye level. “ _You_ are that mission, the missing Winter princess, stolen away for a purpose we still don’t know.”

Feeling a little wobbly in the knees she leans against the banister; Jordan’s words playing havoc with her mind. “What?”

Almost instinctively his hands come up, one rests itself on her shoulder the other on the opposite arm. “Lydia?”

She feels photo paper buckle in her grasp and she shakes her head. “Yeah, I just wasn't expecting a bombshell quite like that.” Her smile is probably as weak as she feels. “Honestly if you'd told me that the first time we'd met I _really_ wouldn't have believed you. 'You're a faerie princess' sounds like someone trying to con a ten year old.”

He quickly tries to cover his laughter, leaving her free to continue down the stairs. She glances back over her shoulder to find him still on the stairway. “Come on, what we're looking for isn't going to find itself.” She can realign her worldview while they look for any clues about Meredith.

Looking through the main floor neither of them find anything referencing or about Meredith—though Jordan does ask her about the trophy case for which the only response she can give is a shrug.

So they move on to the boat house, looking even more ramshackle after Liam's brief stay. Though Lydia has no idea if they'll find anything more pertinent here than they did _in_ the house. She clutches the photo of Meredith like a talisman that'll guide her to what she wants to know. That all changes five minutes in when Jordan's head shoots up. “Your mom's coming.”

Dread courses through Lydia. “Hide! She can't know you're here.” Things will go from bad to worse if she knows about Jordan...somehow.

He doesn't question her, just ducks behind one of the slowly rotting boats, soon it's like he was never there. Lydia heaves a sigh of relief and makes herself look busy.

“Lydia? What are you doing here?” Even though she knew he mother was coming the woman still manages to surprise her.

“Mom! I'm looking for something. Why are _you_ here?” Her eyes narrow as she gets a sneaking suspicion. “Are you _following_ me?”

For a heartbeat mom looks everywhere but at her. “Of _course_ not. I came by to tidy up for the open house.”

Suspicion grows. “Which isn't until next week.” Lydia makes her tone as accusing as possible.

Mom's shoulders slump. “Alright yes, but only because I'm worried about you Lydia. You've come out here almost every weekend recently, and occasionally during the week too. I just want to know why.”

She turns back to the table she was fiddling through. “I told you I'm looking for something.” Lydia plays with the slightly crumpled picture of Meredith for a moment— _“Wouldn't hurt to ask her when you get the chance.”_ _—_ before turning back to her mom photo in hand. “Anything about this.” She holds out the photo.

Mom takes it and blanches a little. “What are you doing with a photo of Meredith Walker?”

An unwelcome chill races down Lydia's spine and she wishes she could touch Jordan. “It was in her personal effects.” She takes the photo back. “How do you know Meredith?” She feels the less she talks about how and why she has said personal effects the better.

A sigh escapes her mother and she goes over to an urn Lydia's never noticed before, picking it up and bringing it back over. “It didn't know her, but your grandmother, your father's mother, did.” She holds the urn out. “These are your grandmother's ashes.”

Lydia takes it, biting back the urges to say 'she's not my grandmother' and 'duh it's her ashes' as she runs her fingers over the etched words, one standing out in particular. “Grandma was at Eichen house?” Lydia doesn't have any concrete memories of her grandmother. Only a vague recollection of the smell of lilies and chrysanthemums and medicine, and the unsigned gifts of books she'd always get on birthdays and Christmas.

“In and out for as long as I can remember. Your grandfather, didn't like to talk about it, people weren't as accepting. I remember her trying to explain it to me once, Eichen let her come to the wedding, but I remember her saying she heard voices.” Mom takes the urn back. “She wanted her ashes spread over the lake when she died.”

Lydia frowns. “Then why are they still in the urn?”

“Because the other part of that request was that you be the one to spread them on your eighteenth birthday.”

Almost angrily Lydia yanks the urn out of her mother's grasp. Screw waiting three weeks, not if it means she can get some answers _now_. Wrenching the lid off she marches over to what is now the lake archway, the doors having long since rotted away from poor care, and sticks her hand in the urn, then stops. “These aren't grandma's ashes.” She doesn't know if that makes it better or worse.

“What?” Mom steps beside her. “Of course they are Lydia, I _saw_ them cremate her and put them in the urn. What else could they possibly be?”

Hoping she's wrong and that this is just a spectacularly even burn, she grabs a handful and tosses them towards the water. Like iron filings to a magnet they stop in a line under the door frame. Worse it is, “it's mountain ash.”

Her mom gapes. “Mountain ash?”

“Or rowan. It creates barriers, this whole place must be made of it, isn't it?” For a second she wonders why it hasn't bothered anyone, then she realizes it's because it hasn't been a closed circuit since the door rotted away.

“I don't know, maybe? Your grandfather was roaring mad when he found out she had had it built though.”

“Why?” There had to be a reason, you don't just build a whole building out of mountain ash because you could.

Mom still stares at the newly made line of mountain ash. “Her will stated that all of her things be put in here.” Once again she walks over the shelves and grabs a sheaf of papers. Bringing them over she flips through them slowly so Lydia can see. “It's mostly just stuff she wrote while in Eichen house, though I don't see what's important about gibberish.”

Lydia holds back a not-so-sane laugh. “Mom that's not gibberish.”

“It's not?” Mom sounds so earnest, that Lydia almost feels embarrassed.

“No, it's a cypher.” The same kind the Benefactor used. Facts like dominoes, _click click click_. “Mom are you _sure_ grandma's dead?” In this town she wouldn't put anything past her grandmother, too many people who were dead just aren't anymore.

Mom rolls her eyes. “Yes Lydia she's dead.”

Lydia keeps her mouth shut, but doesn't believe her one iota. “Thanks for clearing that up.” Balancing the urn in one hand she walks over, crouches down, and picks up the lid. After attaching the lid she puts the urn back on the shelves. “Can I have her papers?” She holds out her hand expectantly.

Hesitantly her mom puts the papers in her hand. “I didn't know you were into codes.”

“Some people offer rewards to those who can crack seemingly impossible codes. There's supposedly a reward for the person who can crack the last part of Kryptos. Let alone what I might get paid if I could mentally and rapidly compute semi-primes.” God, she would be rolling in cash if she could do that.

“What?”

Lydia _won't_ roll her eyes—though it's amusing in a strange way to realize the occasional teenage complaint about how someone as smart as her came from such unintelligent parents isn't actually valid. “Nothing mom, just that codes are interesting. Lots of math.” She wonders if she could brute crack this one, or if she'll need to type it up and try and find out the cypher key.

“If you say so.” Mom pulls her into a hug. “I just want everything to go back the way the way it used to be.”

Lydia finds herself pulling away. “We can't go back mom.” She lets her hands shuffle the pages absently, trusting her instincts to put them most important first. “There's only going forward.”

Natalie frowns, but leaves Lydia be, thank God. Once she's alone it feels like a weight's been lifted from her. Even more so when Jordan steps out. “Lydia...”

“I don't think my dad's mom is dead.” To Lydia it's the only thing that makes sense. If her grandmother is the Benefactor then why is she on the deadpool? Why would the Benefactor want her own supposed granddaughter dead?

“Do you think she was a banshee?” Jordan takes one of her hands away and rubs it between his own.

“Yes, it makes sense then why Meredith would be at the house. Though I thought banshee's were rare?” Feeling like she's done with the papers for now she sets them down on the table, she'll actually look through them later.

Jordan's hand moves up slightly to gently massage her wrist. “For humans? It's probably one every two or three generations, though I could be wrong. For fae? You're a lot rarer. The fact you're a banshee surprised _me_. Let alone your mother.”

Lydia starts. “You've been talking to my...birth mother?” She hasn't even been thinking about that.

“Yes.” Jordan's lips twitch in a smile. “She is my queen, I haven't been gossiping about you, just told her the 'basics' I guess.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs. “What you look like, what you're interested in, your personality. She's happy you're not terribly miserable. She wants to meet you.”

Gently she extracts her hand from his and starts pacing, sometimes she thinks better when she moves. “Not...Not right now. There's just, too much going on.” She finds the idea of meeting her biological mother both frightening and a little exhilarating.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him nod. “She's willing to wait until you're ready, though I think she'd prefer you to be ready sooner rather than later.” He gives her a wan smile.

She nods, glad that that's relatively settled, and steers them back on course. “Are there any other banshee's like me?” She hopes there are, maybe she can actually learn from them.

Jordan's shoulders fall a little. “I only know of one other and...”

Drifting off never boded well. “And?”

“She's nothing but a sorrow woman now.” He takes her hands in his own, stopping her movements. “If you meet her you'll understand why banshees of legend are described the way they are.” Even though the air is chilly his cool hands feel good holding her own.

“Do you know what happened to her?” Lydia finds she has too many questions to hold any back now.

A faint smile twitches at Jordan's mouth. “Once she was Queen under the Waves, and her husband the king.”

“There were more than two courts?” She probably should have waited to ask but it feels like a very important question, especially considering barely an hour ago he'd told her there were only two.

“Yes, once there were many courts, but most have fallen for one reason or another. Those who survived have sought refuge in Summer or Winter as their natures dictate. Now shall I finish?” At least his tone is teasing.

It still makes her flush. Extracting her hands from his she takes a seat on the only bench that looks like it will hold. “Alright, I'll try to be quiet.”

The twitching smile returns. “As I was saying: Danu was Queen under the Waves and she ruled well with her husband Manannán. They had three beautiful children, and she had just given birth to their fourth when the sickness struck.

“No one knows where it came from or what caused it. But it spread faster than any sickness we had ever experienced before and soon only Danu remained healthy. Deciding to risk her very life she escaped the quarantine, and searched for the Caldron of Dagda in the hopes that it could be used to save her people.

“She found it, but when she returned to R'lyeh it was far too late. All she could do was scream over the dead around her. All had died, her court, her three sons, her daughter, all.

“Save for Manannán, who had somehow escaped death, but had fallen into a coma, from which he still has not woken. Danu took to mourning, and has remained so for over five hundred years. As far as I know she hasn't left the rooms she was given since she sought sanctuary in Winter.”

Sympathy for the woman rises inside Lydia, and her hands twist. “Is that why you were worried about me?”

Jordan blinks. “Come again?”

“When I went into the quarantine?”

He steps over to her and kneels. “Yes. No one's allowed in R'lyeh still, but for all I knew someone had snuck in and replicated the sickness. I...don't know what I would have done if that had infected you.”

A pleasing warmth fills her at those words and she smiles. “Thank you.” She means it too, debt or no debt.

“It is...” He looks genuinely stunned and she feels a little bemused as she watches him sit on the bench, a little distance away from her. “I...It is my honor and pleasure. When we made the vow to do our best to find you we all knew we would also do our utmost to keep you safe.” His weight shifts, making the bench creak, and he looks out the broken window. “I'm sure we all thought we would find you somewhere somehow without obligations and cares and could just whisk you back to the Mound with nary a care.”

He turns back to her. “Hopes and thoughts are rarely reality.”

For the next few minutes the only sounds are those of the lake and the wildlife. Lydia lets herself close her eyes and think of nothing more than those sounds. Content for a short while at least to focus on something simple.

Jordan's the one who breaks the silence “Lydia?” She doesn't know why but his tone is slightly worrying.

But she needs to know what he clearly wants to ask her. “What?”

He shifts so they're sitting side by side, and he takes her hands. “I want to meet Peter.”

 _Oh._ “Tomorrow.” Get it done fast and quick. “After school,” she adds because she's missed enough as it is.

Jordan nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Peter and Jordan finally met, sex, and Malia.
> 
> Come join your fellow shippers at [We Conquer Death](http://weconquerdeath.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> \--
> 
> Lydia's comment about Kryptos isn't true, but her one about semi-primes is (a semi-prime is a number created by multiplying two primes together and they make up every single internet transaction you make, so being able to quickly calculate which two primes make up the semi-prime you have? Yeah, Lydia would be rich, though on the run from the law most likely.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie folks, this is definitely one of my favorite chapters.
> 
> Also with this chapter we've kind of come full circle, since part of this first scene was the second of the two drabbles that inspired this whole story.

This isn’t the first time Peter’s seen Lydia in the company of this deputy. Once or twice while slinking around trying to recall he shouldn't kill Kate while they're _temporarily_ aligned, her new toy he guesses. The wolf in him growls at that, because she's _his,_ she chose _him_ , his is the name she cries out when she orgasms. She bears bits of _his_ scent. Unless this boy can prove himself a better man than Peter he isn't going to leave her. Even if the boy can prove himself Peter probably wouldn't leave. The wolf might willingly step aside but he’s just as much man as wolf.

It’s the first time they’ve approached him, and at the loft no less. He finds himself unsure of how to proceed. If it were Lydia alone he’d snap, snark and flirt with her in his own vicious fashion and hope for sex. That’s not as feasible with this stranger she’s apparently bringing into their little game. So he arches an eyebrow and decides to wait the proper course out. “You’ve brought me a new chew toy Lydia? How thoughtful.”

She snorts. “Dog jokes? You’re usually not so self-demeaning.” Yes well, she’s not forced to see what’s hers gallivanting with some…pup. Who’s handsome in a strange way, true, but he finds he has to question her tastes a little—he looks far too earnest.

"You don’t usually bring fresh meat to our little tête-a-têtes."

The deputy, who’s not in his uniform at the moment—not that that changes Peter’s perception of him—stiffens and crosses his arms. The boy has a bit of backbone. Peter inhales to try and catch a bit of his scent, and finds them strangely muted and varied, more varied than a human’s should be…curious.

"Jordan asked to come, he wanted to talk to you."

Curiouser, and curiouser, even his wolf's interested but also annoyed at her use of the boy's first name. Peter turns his full attention to the other man and meets his pale green eyes. “Well?”

Deputy steps in front of Lydia and rests in a surprisingly ready stance. “I was hoping it’d just be Peter and I Lydia, if that’s alright.”

Poor Lydia looks so flabbergasted by that, and he has to bite back a smile. She narrows her eyes and glares at the back of the deputy’s head. “Fine. Though if he starts murdering you don’t expect any help from me.”

A laugh escapes the deputy. “I think I’ll be alright.”

With a harrumph Lydia wanders off to the kitchen, far enough away that she shouldn’t hear anything. Peter crosses his own arms. “What do you want puppy?”

The deputy laughs again though softer this time—an absent part of Peter thinks it’s a nice laugh—but then his expression turns serious. Peter’s mild irritation turns to shock when the man _kneels_ and reaching out takes both of Peter’s hands, turning them slightly so he can kiss his pulse points. The scents of winter, sap, and leather assault Peter’s nose. “I wanted to thank you, Peter Hale, for what you did to Lydia. If you hadn’t done so I don’t think I ever would have found her.”

Peter…doesn’t know how to respond to that. In fact he’s _floored_ by these actions. He did what he did to Lydia to survive, to be able to continue protecting his family, with no thought to anything else, and he’s being _thanked_ for his selfishness? _His continuing selfishness_ , a part of him points out. He's still connected to her after all—though this time he'd rather not find out what'd happen if he died again. So he stands, staring at this kneeling man who he realizes isn’t human at all, silent and for the first time in recent memory unsure.

Peter shakes his hands free, more gently than he intended to, and takes a step back. Then does his best to shore up his facade of indifference. “I must say it's not what I was expecting from you.”

Jordan, Peter wonders why, after that little show he's so willing to use the pup's first name, stands. “Is that good or bad?” A bit of a smile twitches his lips.

“Indifferent.” Unless the boy can scent lies he'll be good with that answer. He's been rattled and it's affecting him more than it should. Plus the fact he's still kneeling? Peter's never been afraid to admit, at least to himself, what he finds attractive or intriguing. And that? That makes Peter want to find out how much he can use up the poor boy before he says 'enough'.

Slowly Jordan rises, this close Peter's a little surprised to realize they're the same height, and that twitch of Jordan’s turns into a full smile. “What if I said you weren't exactly what I was expecting either?"

It makes Peter want to ask what he was expecting, but he has a pretense to maintain. Asking after the opinion of a pup like him, even if he is unusual, isn't part of it. “I'd say I'm glad I sidestepped your expectations.” Peter would hate to be so boorish as to be predictable.

“There's time yet either way.” While his face remains open his scent turns strange: an acrid smoky smell that makes Peter's wolf recoil. In fact his wolf's reaction is so strong that it takes all of Peter's willpower to not wolf out or mimic the action.

Once again Jordan steps into his space. “Anew I thank you.” It's hard to tell if the boy means it or if his words are rote. “I owe you a debt as well for what you have done. Yours to recall as you see fit.”

The longer they talk the more Jordan becomes a puzzle, and if there's one thing Peter enjoys more than a puzzle, it's a puzzle that _owes him a favor_. There are lots of ways Peter could use that favor right now, especially from someone who's also police. He wants to save it for now. Savor and marvel at it.

“I appreciate it deputy.” He gives a deep toothy smile. “I won't hesitate to let you know.”

Jordan's nod is deft and final. “Good. Let Lydia know she can call me later?”

It irks him but, “I will.” he sees Jordan to the door, overall feeling a little like he's been put through his paces—but he's not sure if he's been found wanting or not.

Going to the kitchen he finds Lydia perched on the counter, bare feet swinging, finishing off a cup of yogurt. “So, how'd it go?”

He can't help but roll his eyes. “Obviously I didn't kill him so I'm not sure what more you want.” Although Parrish is the sort of man Peter thinks he wouldn't kill without good reason to, especially considering he doesn't know what exactly the other man is.

Lydia shrugs as she sets her spoon and cup down. “I'm just curious to know what you talked about.”

“You're just going to have to stay curious sweetheart.” Almost impulsively he reaches out and taps her nose. It's more habit than anything that keeps him from telling her, but it also feels like that conversation was private and not meant to be shared. “I think it'll be good for you.”

She narrows her eyes. “You? Keeping secrets? Color me surprised.” She doesn't sound disappointed, but she certainly smells it. Something in him twinges, but it's easy to ignore.

“If I thought it important, I _would_ tell you Lydia.” He should probably make that clear before she makes any other assumptions. In the safety of his own mind he's not ashamed to admit her safety is just as important to him now as Derek's is. “When have I ever hidden anything important from you?”

Besides the bond.

Her shoulders slump. “Never as far as I can tell.” She slides off the counter and he finds himself struck again at how small she is. The sort of small his wolf pays attention to. Her scent grows conflicted, but despite that conflict she speaks. “We think my grandma might be the Benefactor,” it comes out of her in a rush, like she’s almost afraid of saying it.

“Do tell.” He finds himself embracing the eager anger that curls open in him, _finally a lead_.

She does, with surprising candor. Finding the cypher amongst her grandmother's things, the urn full of mountain ash, the other's realization about what the Benefactor must be after the hospital—sadly none of them killed Kate, a missed opportunity.

It's the best news he's had all week. Leaning down he kisses her, nice and long.

When he pulls away she's pleasantly flushed and a little short of breath, she smiles. “By the way, you owe me.” The words have him tensing— _how could she know?_ _—_ but the tone is amused.

“Oh? For what?” He finds himself bracing for the worst.

“I had to give Malia the sex talk, and explain to her how human pregnancy works and menstruation and all that wonderful stuff.” As she speaks she steps closer to him, not that there's much distance between them anyways.

He completes what he's sure is her intended action by wrapping an arm around her and pulling him flush against him. Mentally relaxing at her words. “Yes, I guess I do owe you. Though to be fair, you _did_ promise to look after her.”

Even though she doesn't know it makes him feel guilty, a feeling he's never liked. No one can make him feel guilty like Lydia Martin, not even Talia at her most disappointed Alpha-est had made him feel like Lydia does.

The best option would be to tell her, but he knows that telling her will ruin _this_ , this strange glorious thing between them. Born of just enough trust and the need for control.

Speaking of control...he knows just how best to distract himself _and_ give Lydia the reward she's clearly asking for. He smiles, doing his best to make sure it's wonderfully wicked. “]Lydia, shall we do things my way this time around?” It's been a while since he spoke those words, and he hopes she remembers. Either way he's only half sure she'll say yes. Reaching down he toys with the hem of her dress relishing the shiver she gives him.

“What does doing thing's 'your way' entail?” Her bravado is wonderfully enticing.

The hand on her hem drifts further to graze her thighs. “Definitely a spanking.” He feels she's been asking for it the past few months. Her ass will look so lovely in red. The fact that it's arousing to Lydia—her juices smell so _sweet —_makes it even better. “Possibly some tying up, maybe a blindfold.” The image of Lydia helpless to him is one he's always enjoyed. He gives a careless shrug. “We'll see where the evening takes us.”

Annoyance flares from her scent, pepper sharp as she opens her mouth to protest he's sure. Quickly his other hand covers her mouth. “I promise you Lydia, I _will_ ask you before I do anything.” Her enjoying this experience is important to him, enjoying it means he can do it to her again. Enjoying it means she might trust him a little more.

“Safeword?” There's something remarkable about the way she manages to keep herself this together while he's teasing her like this.

He hums nonsense as he thinks, letting the hand on her thigh brush and tap. At the moment she practically smells of pure sugar she's so aroused, but he can still catch the barest hints of her base scent. “Oleander.”

“Any reason?”

He loves it when she gets breathy, and he has to chuckle. “It's your scent sweetheart. Light, but oh so deadly.”

Her expression shifts as if she's not sure whether to be proud of that or not; the answer of course being that she should. In the end though, she nods. “Alright.”

Peter lets his wolf come a little closer to the surface, giving her a smile full of teeth ready to rend and tear. Letting her go he takes a few steps back to an armchair and sits down. “Strip.”

A shiver wracks her as she reaches behind her for the zipper of her dress, and it takes him a moment to realize her reaction stems from his voice. _Well, well_. Her dress unceremoniously slides to the ground as she steps out of her shoes, then she stops. Her underwear's as pretty as always—yellow this time—but it's not quite what he wants.

Flickers of anger pass through him, though for him it doesn't detract from his own arousal. “Did I stay stop? _Strip._ ” The anger seeps into his voice but from the way she's reacting he doesn't think that's a bad thing.

She quietly moans, he's always liked how quiet she is during sex it makes everything feel that much more illicit, as her hands rise up to unhook her bra. Then she wiggles out of her underwear and she's lovely and naked before him. Shivering from the cool air of the loft, nipples pebbling and begging for bites.

Shifting, he's starting to get a little uncomfortable, he points to the ground with a clawed finger. “Crawl.”

Red creeps up her chest and onto her neck, and he almost calls her over immediately so he can lick and suck at that lovely color, as she gets on her hands and knees and sinuously begins to crawl.

“Such a good girl,” he croons when she reaches him. Gently putting clawed fingers on her chin and raising her up to her knees. “So lovely.” He leaves faint red lines on her skin as he pulls his hand away, and pats his lap.

With less confidence than he would have liked she climbs up. She's far too tense, but he can help with that. Reaching out he pulls her towards him, tucking her face in the crook of his neck. “Take deep breaths.” As she does so his claws gently, he doesn't want to break skin this time, press into her neck and skull and begin kneading.

Finally she's pliant and he finds himself giving a pleased rumble as he begins to position her. Widening his legs he keeps one bent and extends the other, resting the bend of her hips on the bent leg and pushing the rest of her down so her head is almost touching the ground, shoulders resting on his shin. “Comfortable?” One hand reaches down and rubs the middle of the back while the other played with her ass, slipping down for the briefest of moments to play with her slit.

“Yes,” she grinds out, her tone suggests she's a little annoyed with him.

He can live with that. Raising his hand he brings it down in a playful slap.

She jumps and twitches at the contact and the hand still on her back rubs a small circle. “Excellent dear.” Imperceptibly she relaxes, and taking advantage of that he smacks her again. She squeaks in response.

 _Interesting_. He keeps going until her ass is somewhere between pink and red and warm. She moans as his hand rubs and plumps. When he slips his fingers inside her cunt it ripples around them and she whimpers as he tips her over into orgasm.

Now she's well and truly limp and she barely even starts when he lays a final slap on her. Once more he shifts her, her legs spread wide on either side of his own and her torso leaning towards him again, her head lolling against his shoulder. “Mmmmm...”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Now that I have you at my mercy...”

Her giggle is sleepy and sets off a strangeness in his chest. “Peter.”

“I find myself curious about your deputy.” It's probably mean asking her about him while she's high on orgasm, but well, he's that sort of man.

He doesn't even need to see her face to feel the burn of her flush spread across it. “Why do you care?” She somehow manages to sound rebellious. “It's not like anything's going to happen.” Her tone turns downtrodden, something Lydia should never be.

Lacing his arms under her legs he hoists her up a little and stands, walking up the stairs and towards his bed. “I care because he clearly interests you.” With an easy movement, well not so easy, he lays her face down on the bed, she looks much more wrecked than the last time she was there. He feels no shame in being smug.

Leaving her there he walks over to his closet and noisily rummages around, despite the fact it's well organized and what he's looking for is right where it should be. He wants her tense and anxious again. Finally he returns to the bed, a coil of rope in his hands. Very pointedly he lays the rope down next to her and strips down to his boxers.

Climbing onto the bed he sits next to her. “You asleep dear?” Considering she hasn't reacted to the rope he thinks she might be, and unable to resist he reaches out and pinches her ass.

She squirms. “Not asleep,” she mutters. “Don't pinch me.” She narrows her eyes at the rope. “What kind is it?”

He bites back a laugh. “It's silk dear, I'm not crass enough to settle for nylon.” His hand cups her still warm and lovely ass for a moment before smoothing up to her waist. “Do you want to fuck him Lydia?” The hackles of his wolf rise at the thought. He lets his claws tickle the base of her spine.

Her back arches at the sensation. “I...” she seems to struggle with herself, if her facial expressions and scent are anything to go by. “Yes. Though it doesn't mean I'm going to.” It's almost, but not quite a backtrack. However her honesty's something that should be rewarded. He'll let the subject drop for now, though it tugs and teases at the back of his mind. A pebble in his shoe.

Flattening his hand he runs it up her back to cup the back of her head. “How shall we do this sweetheart? On your back or on your knees?” While he thinks he'd prefer her on her knees, and not just for the submissive aspect of it—her ass might not appreciate rubbing against fabric—he'll leave it up to her.

She focuses completely on the rope, as if it'll somehow give her the answer. He gives her time, letting it build anticipation for himself; everything will be worth it in the end. “Knees,” she finally answers.

He grins smugly, even if she can't see it, and begins moving her around, making sure she's comfortable and in roughly the exact position he wants her in. Then he reaches over and grabs the rope. If making her comfortable had been perfunctory this he takes his time with. Granted he's not going to go elaborate with his knotwork, but he'll make it an experience for Lydia.

By the time he's finished she's twitching and clearly ready for the next round. Her arms are tied from the elbow down, and then attached to his headboard. Even if she is mostly resting on pillows, she'd still been too limp to rest on her own knees, she's beautiful.

Shucking his boxers he grabs a condom as he crawls up behind her. As he puts it on he eagerly stares at her, the cant of her hips, the way her hair clings to her back. “Ah, you look a treat dear.”

“Peeteer,” it's a wonderfully petulant whine, and as if in retaliation he lightly slaps her ass again.

“Patience dear, and all will be rewarded.” He plumps her ass and spreads her legs a little further, her pussy a delightful sight. One of his thumbs drift up a little however, resting just barely on the pucker of her anus. “Something a little different?” Not that he'd do that to her, not without much more prep work. He's still curious.

She twitches and shifts. “No.”

Well that's definite. His thumb drifts down to her pussy, content to stroke her labia. Which draws a moan from her. “Maybe another time.” He doesn't give her a chance to respond, they can talk about it more later, and sinks his thumb in, though not too far pressing and rubbing against her inner flesh.

“Ah!” It's almost the loudest sound he's heard he make, and he relishes it; though not for long. When he removes his thumb she tries to follow but he tuts and he doesn't even need to look at her face to know she's pouting.

He doesn't let it bother him though, moving up to lay his chest over her back and lining himself up. “Ready?” He whispers in her ear.

Lydia arches her back, trying to get closer. “Shut up and fuck me Peter.”

A laugh escapes him but he dutifully drives himself in, pressing her forward. She moans. And he gets to work.

Grabbing her hips almost violently, though he doesn't use his claws, he pounds in and in. In a bit of contradicting gentleness he noses at her jaw, rubbing his cheek against her neck.

She bares her neck with a sigh after a particularly powerful thrust and well, he can't resist. Moving down he starts to nibble.

“Pe...Peter...” He's surprised she's still coherent.

Tortuously he slows his thrusts. “Yes Lydia?”

It takes her a few seconds to speak again. “I have...ooooohh, school tomorrow.”

Which means no visible hickeys, no plausible lies for her to have to come up with to explain them. “Shoulder?” It comes out more of a grunt than he'd like, but he finds he _has_ to bite her, to make his claim in some fashion, regardless of whether or not anyone sees it.

“F...fine.”

He lets a hand slip down and tease her clit as he moves his mouth to her shoulder. For now he just lets his teeth scrape and nibble, biting her now would be _too_ much pain for her. He'll wait, picking up his thrusts again and letting his fingers stroke and press at her labia and clit.

She whimpers and he feels her start to clench and flutter around her; and so he strikes. She wails as his teeth dig in, but even that is quiet. Just as quickly as he'd bitten down he releases her, lapping up the blood and drawing out her pain.

Another sigh leaves her as she slumps even further forward and his hand slides back up to her hip as he starts working on his own orgasm.

When it’s over he has to stop himself from slumping on her back and forcing her to take his weight. Instead he pulls out, deals with the condom, then crawling back on the bed he starts to untie Lydia. She sighs when he finishes and he spends the next few minutes rubbing her forearms, leeching any discomfort and making sure the faint welts are fading.

Satisfied that’s she’s relatively okay he maneuvers her under the sheets and tucks her in. “Take a nap and I’ll make dinner alright?”

“You trying to get me ready for round two?”

He’s not sure if she’s teasing him or asking the question seriously, either way it still makes him laugh softly and kiss her. “Why don’t we figure that out afterwards.”

After dressing he goes downstairs and starts poking around in the kitchen.

—

Gladly Malia lets herself get lost in dancing, it’s fun and easy and no one expects anything from her. Occasionally she’ll open the flask she stole from her dad and take a drink. She knows it won’t get her drunk, but she enjoys the burning sensation as the pungent amber liquid goes down her throat.

Under the pounding music she hears familiar footsteps and turns. Scott looks worried. “Malia...”

She tosses back another drink. “Are you here to apologize?” For a while it felt like the people who tried to help her at Eichen only told her about apologies and how she needed to use them, with herself and towards others. She still doesn't get it though.

Scott gives an unhappy frown and he starts reeking of guilt. “We had good reason to Malia. You know you can't get drunk right?”

“Duh.” Contemptuously she drinks again before tucking the flask in her shorts. “That's what sire said you'd say.” Part of her conversation with Peter returns to mind. _“Just to show you how predictable Scott can be I'll tell you everything he'll say to you next time you see him.”_

His face scrunches with confusion. “Who?”

A particularly rapid beat starts up and she finds herself swaying to it. “Peter, he's my sire.” That's how she's keeping track of it in her head anyway, Peter's her sire and Henry Tate's her dad. “We talked.”

Scott tries to grab her but she sways out of the way. “Malia, you can't trust Peter.”

“He said you'd say that too, and he said you'd be right.” _“There's probably a part of you that wants to trust me, at least a little. You shouldn't. Not until I know you better.”_ “We can keep talking if you actually have anything interesting to tell me, but otherwise I'm going to dance and try to act drunk.” Turning on her heel she eagerly joins in the crowd dancing, letting them jostle and move her closer to the middle, away from Scott and her problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Assassination attempts galore.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a couple of awesome things: My lovely beta Rantsofafangirl made [pretty art for me](http://rantsofafangirl.tumblr.com/post/104148289737/winters-kiss-written-by), and I also did a tiny sequel [involving Jordan/Erwann and his yet to actually be introduced sister](http://kaelthewriting.tumblr.com/post/104524936436/from-here-you-could-see-everything-including-the).
> 
> A not so awesome thing however: Trigger Warning for suicide this chapter.

Faintly Lydia can hear her phone ringing. Blearily she blinks and sits up, listening closer. It's her Stiles ringtone and with a groan she crawls out of bed, taking a sheet with her. Her clothes still downstairs with her phone. She only feels a little wobbly, though her left shoulder _hurts_ , as she walks and she takes extra care with the stairs. As she descends the smells of beef and some sort of leafy green reach her nose and her stomach complains.

Peter doesn't say anything as she goes to her phone, but she knows he knows she's up. Picking up her phone she hits 'answer'. “What's up?” Good thing she doesn't sound like she had wildly kinky sex.

“Hey. I was planning on going down to the station to talk to my dad about Benefactor stuff, you want to come?” Then a few seconds later. “You don't sound like you're at the bonfire.”

He's asking? Securing the sheet better she leans against the back of the couch and gives an inaudible sigh. If she cared at all for her social life anymore she _would_ be at the bonfire, but she'd kind of gotten caught up in Peter—though she doubted Stiles would like that answer. “You don't sound like you're at the bonfire either Stiles, so don't go judging me. And why not? I need...” She ticks off essentials in her head: bandage shoulder, dressed, eat _something_ , she didn't have to ask Peter for a ride. “About half an hour. Meet you at the station?”

She hears what might be jangling keys, “okay, yeah. Half an hour.” He hangs up.

“It wouldn't be too much to hope that you've got bandages and anti-bacterial cream?” Hanging up her own phone she straightens, then grimaces. “Painkillers, I'm _sore_.” It's only half-accusing because she sure as hell isn't going to complain about the sex.

Peter comes in drying his hands off on a towel. “You forget Lydia, Derek's gone human, so yes we've got a first-aid kit. I guess I can't convince you to stay and enjoy the dinner I made.”

This time her sigh's audible. “Sorry, but the sheriff should know about my grandma”— _not your grandmother_ _—_ “sooner rather than later.”

He gives a mock pout. “If you insist.” He walks past her into what looks like another bathroom, while he's in there she drops the sheet and pulls on her panties and bra, leaving the left strap hanging around her arm. Peter's timing in returning is perfect enough that she's sure he waited for her to finish before coming back out. “Let me get your shoulder.”

“Peter, I would have chewed you if you _didn't_ take care of my shoulder.”

He gives a rueful chuckle as he efficiently gets out out everything. As he rubs the cream on the bite he leeches pain, perks of dating a werewolf she supposes.

“Is it going to scar?” She wonders if that's a question better asked at Jordan, Peter doesn't know she's fae after all.

“I don't think it should,” he answers as he tapes on gauze. “Finish getting dressed and I'll get you pills and  _something_ to eat.”

Rapidly he packs up the kit and goes back into the kitchen. “I don't know if I'm liking this mother hen side of you,” she tells him as she pulls her dress up grateful it hasn't gotten too wrinkled.

Peter doesn't respond, a reaction she's unsure is good or bad. Dashing into the bathroom she checks her hair, she'd rather not have to come up with a lie to explain sex-hair to Stiles. Thankfully he doesn't have super senses. After a little rearranging she leaves and goes into the kitchen.

A glass of water and three ibuprofen are waiting for her on the counter along with a plate of apple slices. Peter's doing dishes. As she sits at the bar-counter she thinks this is strangely domestic of them, especially considering two and a half months ago she refused to be alone with him.

She doesn't eat quickly, but she can't really take her time. It'll take her about ten minutes to get to the department from the loft, leaving her only ten minutes to eat.

They remain silent as she does so, leaving Lydia feeling unnerved as she gets up. It doesn't feel like their relationship's ruined or anything, more that if Stiles hadn't called everything from then on would have turned out differently.

Hesitantly she goes over to Peter, who's been washing the same pot since she started eating, and wraps her arms around him resting her head on his back. “I'll see you later.”

There's a bit of a clatter as he lets the pot drop and turns in her grasp. “Alright. And.” For a brief second his damp hands wrap around her and return the hug before going back to his sides. “Don't think we're not done talking about this deputy of yours Lydia. There's something about him...” The interest she sees in Peter's eyes makes her strangely giddy.

“What, do you think you might like him?” Lydia mock gasps.

Peter gives a bark of laughter. “I'll have you know I drove my poor parents up the wall with uncertainty on whether or not I'd bring a boyfriend or a girlfriend home during breaks, if I brought one at all.” He gives a twitch of a smile, and something in Lydia softens to hear him fondly talking about life before the fire. “I don't think Talia quite approved, or didn't like that I was, _am_ , bisexual but she lived with it.”

Part of Lydia wants to stay and talk more about this, because Peter might actually be opening up to her and who knows what they'd talk about. She knows if she's even two minutes past when she said she'd be at the station Stiles will be calling her asking her where she is. With a sigh she lets go of Peter and steps away from him. “I'll see you later,” she repeats before turning around and leaving.

—

The more Malia dances the stranger she feels, like everything's gone slow; some new thrum in the music grabbing her and not letting go.

The boy trying to dance with her is attractive enough, she thinks about what sort of pups they’d have. She deals with that thought the same way she’d dealt with errant pups, grabbing it by the ruff and giving it a firm shake. It doesn’t work as well as usual, mentally she feels like she’s slogging through mud. He grabs her elbow gently—otherwise she might have attacked him for being so presumptuous—and says something.

She stumbles and laughs, even though she’s sure whatever he said wasn’t actually funny. He starts leading her out towards the end of the crowd, before they can go beyond the glow from the bonfire there are big burly men there. They sound angry as they speak, and she finds herself baring her teeth when one of them grabs her.

He sneers and starts dragging her towards the school. Shortly two others come along, dragging Scott and Liam. A twist in her gut tells her something's wrong, and she tries to get away. Like her thoughts her body feels like it's moving through something thicker than air and she can't seem to do anything of actual purpose.

They get dragged into a hallway and thrown against a row of lockers. It isn't until they start drenching the three of them in gasoline that she realizes they're assassins.

Next to her Scott sputters, shifting a little so he's half blocking Liam. “Wh...what are you doing?” He sounds like dad does sometimes. Drunk.

Is that what happened to them? Did the three of them somehow get drunk? One of the assassins hunches down to eye level. “We're gonna burn you, like Haigh's gonna burn Parrish and then collect a good chunk of cash.”

She has no idea who Haigh is, but she wants to rip his throat out. The assassin stands. “Make sure they're well soaked.”

—

Jordan leans back in his chair and stretches, feeling every one of his many years. Besides Haigh he's the only one in the station, Stilinski and Michalson were out on patrol but should be back soon.

“Here.” He's honestly surprised when Haigh sets a mug of coffee on his desk, it's not usual for the guy. “You look like you need it.”

Only a little suspicious Jordan picks up the mug, coffee doesn't actually do much for him but he has grown to like the taste over the decades. He doesn't bother trying to sniff it, he doesn't exactly have the senses to tell if it's been drugged or not, just brings it up to his mouth and drinks. It's lukewarm, Haigh probably got it from the pot in the breakroom then, but that doesn't bother Jordan.

A few minutes into the mug he realizes everything's a little hazy, _huh, guess it was drugged_. He sways and out of the corner of his eye he sees Haigh approaching. Well despite the drugging, Jordan knows he can take whatever Haigh has planned.

—

One of the assassins flicks open and strikes a lighter, but as he goes to light them on fire a gunshot rings out and barely an eyeblink later the lighter's flying from the guy's hand away from them. All eyes turn to the end of the hall where Derek and the gun lady...'B' something...are standing.

A heartbeat later the horrible lethargy just...vanishes. Feeling alive again she lunges as Scott reaches out, hitting the assassin's shoulder the same time Scott grabs his hand and _twists_. The sound of cracking bones makes her mouth water, eager to suck the marrow from them. She gives herself a mental shake, _eating people is bad!_

The man falls down, incapacitated and before Malia can even blink it's a free-for-all. For all her desire to become a coyote again she has to admit there's a certain rush to fighting like this, one she'll miss.

Then just as quick as it started it's over. She finds herself stumbling a little, legs wobbly. B-something reaches out to steady her and Derek helps Scott and Liam up. “You three alright?” He asks.

“I'll be fine,” Scott answers. She can't smell if he's lying or not—she'll need to shower for a week to get the reek of gasoline out of her.

Liam looks a little green, and for all that they're pack-mates she thinks he could do with a little toughening up.

Malia takes a few deep breaths a forces her legs to support her. “I'm good.”

B-something doesn't question her and lets go. Taking a step Malia's grateful that she doesn't wobble. “I want a shower...then a nice patch of clover.” She'd always liked the smell of clover.

From the looks that gets her she thinks she might have done another blunder and she curls up a little on herself. Derek's lips twitch in a bit of a smile though. “Come on at least you can shower in the locker rooms.”

Oh goody.

—

It's laughably easy to act scared. He does mean laughably, if he's not too careful he _will_ burst into laughter and well...that would kind of ruin the 'helpless' affectation. Though out of what he expected from an assassin Haigh isn't it.

Immolation is a horrible way to die, even worse, by the time Haigh leaves Jordan's still alive in the smoldering embers. Bastard didn't even have the decency to _make sure_ he was dead.

Blindly he reaches for the magic that will keep him alive, he might only be half-dead, but he needs that burst of healing that comes with new life. He has no idea who Haigh might go after next and Lydia still needs him. It keeps slipping from him, the geas too indomitable. Death or nothing.

Gritting his teeth, which hurts hurts more than it has a right to, he forces a destroyed arm to move, grateful that the plastic cuffs have melted. Gas burns hot enough to kill, but not hot enough to warp metal and... _yes._ Half-fingers grip his gun and painfully slow, _hurry hurry,_ he brings it over to himself.

It hurts to breathe, but he forces himself to take a deep breath, suicide never gets easier but there's no choice. With what little strength he has left he raises the gun and fires.

Rebirth comes in a glorious rush. With gaining strength Erwann kicks the door of the iron trap he's stuck in. Fire's weakened it and it doesn't take long before it's flying away.

He's away, running towards Lydia, towards that circle of perfect cold that is the heart of her. The trees whisper around him as he runs, _here, here, turn, now go._ Part of Erwann wants to laugh, it's been so long since his last death that he feels almost hyper-aware of the world around him, the way an errant breeze sweeps past taking more of his ashy clothes with it, the chatter of people a few streets over, the almost technicolor vision that comes with refreshed eyes.

It's heady, but he won't let him distract him from his goal. He can't fail, failing again means the loss of Lydia and he can't let that happen.

He slows when he reaches the sheriff's department, surprised she's here. Striding in, uncaring of his nakedness _it won't stop stop him from doing what he needs to do_ , he sees Lydia in the Sheriff's office. _Safe_ , that part of him relaxes, but another part tenses when he sees Haigh sitting at his computer like nothing's happened.

Rage whites his vision and Erwann charges.

Haigh's attempts at defending himself are human and weak, and Erwann easily subdues him. Once Haigh's trapped and _truly_ helpless, Erwann redoubles his efforts, especially when he hears Lydia scream. “ _In war playing fair gets you killed. You go to kill or be killed, so_ kill _.”_

When Haigh stops moving beneath him Erwann finds himself searching for another target, there has to be others here who are a danger to him, to Lydia.

“Jordan!” Reaches him faintly, as if in a fog. Lydia's voice says something else, but it's unimportant. Then a cool hand touches his shoulder and: “Erwann.” It's whisper soft, a secret.

Erwann, who is also Jordan, breathes. Turning his head slightly he sees Lydia squatting next to him, worry clear in her gaze. “Are you alright?”

“I...” He turns his head to hack up a disgusting ball of ash and phlegm. He turns back to Lydia, better to look at her than what he just spit out or the remains of Haigh. “I'm alright.” A shiver wracks him and absentmindedly he realizes he's naked.

Lydia seems to realize this at the same moment, she flushes prettily then looks away. “Stiles?” Her voice sounds a little strained. “Jordan kind of needs clothes.”

A laugh rattles out of Jordan, who briefly wonders if he should consider Erwann a different person now, they act so differently. “There should be something that fits me in the back room.” With Stiles he doesn't think he needs to elaborate more than that. He starts to move to stand, only to stop when Lydia removes her hand the palm covered in ashes and grease. “I'm going to take a shower.” He damn well deserves one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: conversations, Lydia experiments, and the big s4 shocker.
> 
> \--
> 
> Yeah, the whole gasoline-bullets thing isn't true, and anyways they would have been shooting at the assassin's, not the gas cans.
> 
> And yeah, Peter is totally bi in my head, and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know what you all need to do? You should all [go to my Beta's tumblr](http://rantsofafangirl.tumblr.com/), and shower her with hugs and general well being, because without her this chapter would still be nowhere near finished. 
> 
> Also I'm not going to apologize at all for the fact this chapter is 13,000+ words.

After the ambulance carrying the sheriff and Stiles drives away Jordan and Lydia hurry to her car. Scott wanted everyone, well not _everyone_ everyone, to meet up as soon as possible. Seemed he wasn't the only one Haigh had been hoping to report dead tonight.

There's only a few heartbeats of silence in the car before Lydia speaks. “Are you immortal? Am I?” She doesn't sound strained, or worried, just...apprehensive?

He gives a little sigh, knowing this question would have turned up sooner or later. “Yes we both are, but in different ways. You, you'll probably stop aging somewhere in your twenties, maybe thirties, and if nothing happens to you you can live forever. But if you die, you die.” Even though his jeans he can feel his nails pressing in.

“Me, I'll look like this forever too, but when I die, I don't stay dead.” In a way it's a blessing and a curse, being a saprophyte. It means that he can survive things that would kill most other beings, it means that back in the Mound there is literally a cemetery with his name on it. On the other hand he's only one of two and he failed the other and now she's caught in a cycle of eternal dying that no one can break and _he failed her_.

“Oh.” Lydia is silent for a few seconds. “What can kill me?” It's a relief that she's asking that, the more she knows about what to avoid the safer she'll be.

“Truly? Any fatal wound made by iron or steel unless you are _very_ lucky. Iron poisoning can kill you too, though much slower. Because you're Winter you can withstand colder temperatures than most. I'm actually not sure about you but I know most Winter fae avoid places that can get over eighty in the summer.” He shrugs. “Most things that could kill humans or other supernatural creatures, in greater extreme. If you fell from a hundred feet you probably would only have minor injuries and could walk away fine but from two to three hundred? You'd have some broken bones.

“Most diseases won't kill you, except for a few of supernatural origin, and your body will always manage to fight off any infection you might get.”

Silence falls in the car while Lydia seems to process all of that. “You said I could deal with colder temperatures, does that mean I have some control over cold?”

“You should. All fae that are explicitly of Winter have some control over things like cold and snow. I've seen your mother call a snowstorm down in a desert, and when Tambora erupted she was quick to take advantage of the situation. I think she enjoyed making it snow in August, though it annoyed your aunt to no end.” While the queen didn't hide away her emotions from her court, she didn't share them either, but all knew that that year was one of the few times she laughed in public.

Her eyebrows rise. “I have an aunt?”

Oh, he looks out the window, he possibly should have mentioned that earlier. “And two cousins. Your aunt is the queen of the Summer Court, and your mother's twin.”

“Huh.” She falls quiet again. This time it doesn't last as long as before. “Tambora erupted in 1815.” She gives him a side-eye look. “If you were there...how old are you exactly?”

It's a question that makes Jordan feel a little uncomfortable. “Honestly I've kind of lost track, a lot of fae do past a certain point, but ah...I'm over a thousand years old.”

He sees her knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. “That, is a lot older than I thought you'd say.” Her response is enough that he kind of wishes he had a shifter's senses, maybe they would tell him more about what she currently felt.

Lucky for him they arrive at Derek's building soon after, which puts an end to any other awkward questions or explanations for the time being. Though it does mean he has to start figuring out what he's going to say to those who don't know about him to explain everything in a mostly satisfactory fashion.

For the second time that day they head up to the loft. This time Peter's not there, or he doesn't make himself known. Derek is—looking his actual age again—as is Scott. As he and Lydia walk in Scott wrinkles his nose. “You smell like gasoline.” Worry's clear on his face. “And smoke. Did someone stop Haigh before he could burn you?”

Lydia glances at him and arches an eyebrow as if to say 'you're on your own'. He huffs. “No. Haigh burned me.” He might as well just go with that. “I survived.” Lydia brushes past him, a sensation new to this body that has him breaking out in goosebumps, as she goes to stand by Derek.

Only for a moment since Scott and Derek are quickly on him, both paying more attention to him than he's comfortable with. “How'd you survive? You don't look burned at all.” Scott again, Derek seems content to look for now.

“I don't think I did survive.” He's walking a fine line of half-truths and evasion.

“Can I?” Derek gestures at Jordan's hand, and at least he's asking.

He shrugs, “go ahead.”

With surprising gentleness Derek grabs his hand and brings it up to his face, turning it this way and that. “You don't look like you were burned alive.”

Jordan has to resist the urge to chuckle. “Hair and nails should be gone right? Trust me though, I feel like it.” He does, everything's too raw, taking a shower had been an exercise in self-control.

At the moment he doesn't even want to contemplate what sex might be like. Though now that he's thought of _that_ , it does start creeping into his brain: _Lydia pinning him down as she rides him, Peter_ _—_ Peter?

True his encounter with the other man had left him a little shaken, and he found Peter's sharp tongue entertaining, but Jordan didn't know if he actually found the man _attractive_. Not in a way that would imply sex...a small part of him protests that he's clearly denying the possibility.

“What is he?” Scott's question pulls him away from having to think more on that. At first Jordan thinks it's a general question to the room, but it doesn't take him long to notice Scott is looking at Derek expectantly.

Derek's brow furrows as he drops Jordan's hand and crosses his arms. “This is a little outside my area of expertise Scott. I don't know everything.”

Scott's eyes narrow. “You knew about Kira, and Jackson.” The accusation in Scott's tone is heavy enough that even Jordan can't miss it.

Part of Derek's lip curls, briefly revealing teeth. “My family's had experience with kanimas and kitsune before Scott, but I've never heard of anything like him.” Considering Jordan is one of two, and the fae are secretive at best that admission doesn't surprise him.

Which is when Lydia steps in. “Really you two?” She arches an eyebrow at Scott. “Scott it's okay that Derek doesn't know the answer, and expecting him to is just rude.” She can't see it but Jordan doesn't miss the grateful look Derek gives her at that. “Now can we focus on more important things please?” There's a bare thread of glamour in her voice.

Now Scott's the one with a furrowed brow. “We need to figure out what Parrish is.”

Lydia manages to cover her surprise that her compulsion didn't work quickly enough that Scott doesn't notice. “Why, Scott?” Her voice has more glamour in it this time, enough that it should bend Scott. “It's not important compared to everything else. It's okay if we don't know right now. We can flip through the bestiary when this is all over and try and figure out then alright?”

The mention of a bestiary intrigues Jordan, though he doubts anything remotely fae would be in it, not in a concrete manner.

“He's not like us.” Scott's shoulders slump though, and if Jordan were younger he would probably be offended at being othered like that.

He can turn it a little to his advantage though. “Not like you? Are you all like Lydia then?” It's a ribbing Jordan finds he doesn't want to resist. The other two give him blank looks, though Lydia's lips twitch in a smile. “Are you all psychic?”

Scott gives a little frown. “No not exactly.” He and Derek seem to have a conversation that is done only in eyebrow movements. Then Scott steps in front of him and lets his eyes glow bloody red.

Jordan will admit it's a cool trick, but these aren't the first werewolves he's ever encountered. Still he makes himself take a step back as if stunned, they need to believe he doesn't know what he is and he needs that lie to stand as long as possible. Being underestimated is his greatest weapon right now.

After that the atmosphere feels lighter, light enough that Jordan doesn't think anyone's going to hurt anyone else anytime soon.

“Did you find out anything else about your grandma?” Derek turns to Lydia. “I thought you said your mom could tell you more?”

Lydia nods, “Yeah, I talked with her about it this morning. Jordan gave me a good jumping off point yesterday when he asked about the boating trophies at the lake house. It managed to get me all of the relevant history.”

Either Lydia doesn't notice Scott's slightly stunned expression, or she's ignoring it because she just continues. “They're all for a woman named Maddie Jones, who was my...grandmother's girlfriend. She raced yachts, and if the trophies are anything to go by she was really good. Grandma was working for IBM at the time and one day while she was checking on the computers she heard thunder, but when she looked out the window the sky was clear.”

Lydia's lips twitch, though it's a wan smile. “She couldn't shake the foreboding feeling in her chest, so she called Maddie. When she told Maddie what she'd heard Maddie just laughed and told her that the sky at the lake was the clearest she'd ever seen it.” She hunches in a little on herself. “Of course clear days don't mean lightning won't strike. Apparently the coroner called it an 'Act of God'.”

“She died?” Scott's so easy to read it's a little sad really; his wrecked expression conveying his sorrow for a woman who died around forty years ago.

“Yes, and after she died grandma threw herself into trying to find out why she'd heard what she did. Doctors, para-psychologists, whoever said they had an answer. That's how she met my grandfather, he was a neuroscientist.

“When grandma got pregnant with dad she started turning to more...esoteric means to find the answers to her questions...she and grandpa apparently argued a lot about it, and after dad was born grandpa had her committed to Eichen for the first time.” For a few moments those words seem to echo and hold more resonance.

“She was in and out for most of dad's life, though dad never really understood why since grandma seemed sane every time they went to visit her or she got discharged. It stuck with him though. He only let me see her a few times when she'd been discharged and under _very_ controlled circumstances.

“Mom said grandma met Meredith when I was about thirteen. Somehow she convinced grandpa to discharge her and get a week pass for Meredith, which apparently was a lot harder than it sounded, Meredith had just appeared at Eichen's doors a few years before that, covered in blood.” Even with everything Jordan's seen and experienced hearing that is a bit of a shock.

“Grandpa did it and they took Meredith to the lake house and tested her for everything they could think of: hearing, vision, perception, brain waves.” He watches as Lydia takes a deep breath. Part of him wants to comfort her in some fashion, to make this easier for her somehow, but he thinks she might refuse it like she did yesterday. He knows she needs to learn to stand on her own to be a good queen, but it doesn't mean he has to like it. “The tests went...poorly, from what I read from the result sheets.” As she continues her expression grows more and more sorrowful and he finds he can't resist stepping up to her side and gently taking her hand, feeling gratified when she squeezes his. Jordan doesn't miss the way Scott and Derek's eyes sharpen with interest. Not that he thinks it's any of their business.

“When Meredith returned to Eichen she was well and truly insane. After that grandpa committed grandma again and refused her every argument that she should be discharged. For all I know he probably thought it was a fitting punishment for her. Three years later she died, the report we got said suicide.” Lydia shrugs. “Now it seems more likely now she faked her death.”

Scott looks expectantly at Lydia, like he expects there to be more to the story, but Lydia doesn't continue. In comfort Jordan squeezes back before letting go.

“So what do we do now?” For a man who's older than Scott, Derek seems happy to let someone else take the lead.

Scott looks resigned but willing to step up to the plate. “We find Lydia's grandma.” For a second Lydia's facade cracks, sadness, fear, and resignation flickering across her features at the thought of meeting her pseudo-grandmother. Jordan's pleased to note no one else notices. Though he can't imagine what she's going through, he never actually had parents in the human sense. “Try to convince her to call off the deadpool.” Which is sweet and wonderfully naive of Scott.

“What about plan B?” Lydia's question draws Scott short.

 Overall the boy doesn't seem that perturbed. “We'll find a way to stop the deadpool,” he repeats. As if saying it will be enough to make it so, and there's a sort of earnest charisma about Scott that Jordan _wants_ to believe that Scott will find a way. Jordan's old enough that he knows earnestness only gets you so far in life. He'd like to think killing Lorraine would be enough to stop the deadpool, but that's a foolish hope. Scott’s phone buzzes, pulling it out he frowns a little. “I need to go.” He gives a little sheepish smile. “Mom wants me home.”

To Jordan Scott’s actions just prove that he’s too young to be dealing with problems like this, he's what? Seventeen? Sixteen? Lydia's told him about what all of them have gone through in the past year, and while Jordan isn't going to deny the difficulty of the choices they've had to make. Compared to some of the decisions Jordan's seen humans make Scott's kind of had it easy. Jordan isn't sure if he wants to see what sort of man a true war would make Scott McCall.

Scott turns to Lydia. “You'll call if you get anything more right?”

Her shoulders slump and she gives a little nod of her head. “Yes Scott, I'll call.”

He steps over to Derek. “Be careful, you're not exactly invincible anymore.”

Derek's huff is a little exasperated. “Trust me Scott I know that better than you do.” It takes Jordan longer than he would like to recall what's wrong with Derek, but when he does he grimaces in sympathy.

“Yeah I know, but I'm still worried about you.” Scott ducks his head a little, like he's sort of embarrassed to admit that.

Derek's smile is bright. “Thanks Scott. I've got a hold of things for now, and I've got Braeden looking out for me too.” Reaching out he actually _ruffles_ Scott's hair. “You should probably go home before your mom texts you again.”

Scott throws out one last hurried goodbye before rushing out the door.

Awkward silence fills the loft, Derek and Lydia clearly not knowing what to say to each other. From what he remembers of what Lydia told him, the two of them didn't interact often, and a year ago Derek tried to kill her.

Part of Jordan wants to hate Derek for that, but Derek's transformation into pure human is a suffering that not even Jordan can comprehend, nor does he think he wants to. Before he can try to break the ice footsteps from the upper section have all three of them turning towards the spiral staircase.

It's Peter and Jordan feels a tangle of emotions as he watches him descend the stairs. “That's a blindingly simple plan, though delightfully short sighted.” For all that Jordan met the man a few hours ago for the first time it's a small shock to see him again. There's a draw about Peter that Jordan's not sure he wants to investigate or acknowledge—for all that fae can't verbally speak lies they're fantastic at lying in their own minds.

His appearance also triggers a gut punch of debt, the sort most fae despise. It makes part of him want to throw himself at Peter's feet and demand a task, something that can even the scales. The rest of him knows it doesn't, or shouldn't, work like that.

Instead he hides a hand behind his back and clenches it tightly, embracing the small sharp pain of nails digging into the meat of his palm.

Derek glowers. “You could've come down earlier.”

“What? To give my input on that stellar plan?” Peter arches an eyebrow. “Please you know how it would've gone, Scott wouldn't even trust me with his pet goldfish.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Don't be such a drama queen Peter.”

Peter only gives her a sharp cutting glance, one that seems to amuse Lydia more than anything. “I would hardly call the truth dramatic. The day Scott McCall come to me for help is the day the world is going to end. I mean he didn't even think to ask if _I_ knew what Jordan might be.”

Jordan doesn't exactly feel panicked, but he's worried. There's no way Peter knows what he is. _How_ could he have figured out in such a short amount of time? Peter _couldn't_ know enough to have deduced the correct answer. Either in solidarity or comfort Lydia steps closer to him. From the way Peter's gaze sharpens he doesn't miss it.

Derek unintentionally distracts him. “ _Do_ you know what he is?”

“No,” Peter sounds like it's a personal affront that he doesn't know the answer. “That doesn't mean I don't have guesses.” Jordan can live with guesses, especially when they're most likely wrong.

However he's starting to get tired of being talked over, and anger comes quick and easy. “I'm right here you two.” He crosses his arms and glares at Peter, who hardly seems phased.

Derek looks a little embarrassed though, if his slightly pink ears are anything to go by. “Sorry,” he turns a little. “I'm...going to get something to eat.”

He sounds so stiff and tense that Jordan wants to say something to try and relax him—though what that would be escapes him—but before he can really even think on it Derek has retreated to the kitchen.

“Then there were three,” Peter murmurs seemingly to himself, before crossing his arms and turning to face Jordan completely. “Jordan,” the way Peter says his name is vaguely unpleasant. “If I asked you what you were would you tell me?”

“No.” Fae might not be able to lie, but that didn't mean they had to answer every question put to them, or even in a straightforward manner.

“You know you were much more pleasant this afternoon.”

“Peter,” Lydia hisses, clearly offended.

Jordan's not afraid to meet Peter's eyes, anger pushing him on. “Yes well, this afternoon someone hadn't try to kill me.”

Peter does not exactly take a step back, but his eyes do widen a little. “So I heard. The question remains, _do_ you know what you are?”

Now Jordan crosses his own arms, more as a barrier than anything else. “If I did?”

“Than I'm sure Scott would find it a curious thing that you're so close lipped about it.” Peter's gaze turns assessing, and even though Jordan's over a thousand years old that gaze still makes him feel like a butterfly trapped in a jar. “While I find myself curious, I prefer to figure things out on my own.”

Lydia steps between them, glaring at them both. “There's a table right there you know.”

He finds himself blushing a little at her implication, while Peter sniggers.

“I think I should leave.” Jordan thinks his emotions might be getting the better of him, all of him still a little raw and sensitive.

She frowns a little, as if she had something planned and he's blowing it all out of the water. “Alright.” She tosses him her keys. “I'll be down in a little bit,” her gaze cuts to Peter, who smirks a little. “Peter and I need to talk about something.”

Jordan only nods before he turns around and does his best to make it look like he isn't running away.

—

Peter gives her a twitch of a smile. “I'd thought I was going to have to detain you to finish our conversation.” His tone is amused, but quiet, not wanting to draw Derek’s attention.

Despite her low simmering anger Lydia blushes a little, not really believing that barely an hour ago she had admitted to the man she was technically in a relationship with that she wanted to at least have sex with another man as well. Sure one or two of the fuck-buddies she'd been with since Jackson, and actually Jackson himself once, had proposed threesomes. That had been more in a 'I want to see two girls making out on top of me' way bullshit. Though she knows that not all polyamorous relationships have to work like that.

Peter's admission of being bisexual right before she left though had sparked something in her belly. A curious curl that somehow made it okay for her imagine things proceeding down a path where she could have both of them. Seeing the two of them next to each other that afternoon had made her picture things she never had before. What they might look curled up around each other in sleep, if Jordan was a morning person or if he'd be stumbling towards the coffee pot after getting up, or was he a tea drinker like her and Peter? Those images don't make her shiver, but they made a curious want inside her to know them in reality.

Granted he didn't explicitly say he wanted to try things with Jordan, but admitting he was bisexual and saying there was something interesting about Jordan? Lydia can read between Peter's lines, and even if he didn't say yes, yet, it's enough that Lydia doesn't feel bad about trying to go forward. That does not mean she is going to play Peter's game. “Considering how underhanded you asking about it was I'm surprised too.” She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at him.

“ _Considering_ our relationship I think I have a right to know if you're thinking about another man, especially if it means you might start cheating on me.” He steps closer and arches an eyebrow. “Werewolves can react just as poorly as humans do Lydia, and well, I find I quite enjoy our relationship.”

Her narrowed eyes turn into a full on glare. “Trust me Peter, I would legitimately break up with you before actually going through the trouble of sleeping with someone else. Relationships can have enough drama as it is without throwing infidelity into the mix. If I want to break up with you, you'll be the first to know.”

He opens his mouth to speak again, but she continues before he gets the chance. “Also, just because I might have feelings for him does not invalidate or overwhelm any feelings I might have for you Peter.” She steps even closer and pokes him, hard, in the chest. “I can damn well care for more than one person and still have enough left over for myself. And,” she takes a deep breath because admitting this for the first time might be _hard_. “Maybe I want you both.”

Which earns her raised eyebrows. “What? Polyamory? That isn’t exactly something werewolves are known for.”

“A, really? B, when have you ever gone with what’s expected? C, you’re a _were_ wolf, or do you not know the roots of your own word? Humans do all sorts of strange relationships.”

He actually bares his teeth at her, and feeling a thread of panic takes a step back; in an eyeblink though he appears calm again. “I haven’t felt human in a long time Lydia.”

Overall that admission isn't actually a surprise. The _fact_ he's admitting it? Lydia's fairly certain it's a step in the right direction for Peter. Not that she thinks he'll be able to be 'better' than vaguely antagonistic. Seeing no reason not to she steps back towards him and hugs him. “That doesn't make you heartless.”

She actually feels Peter jump a little in her embrace, not expecting the contact. “You know I'm curious to see how you would explain this to Derek if he stepped back into the room.”

“You're trying to change the subject, and it's not going to work.” Turning her head to rest better on his chest she closes her eyes and inhales: he smells like old books, something infinitely comforting to her.

His shoulders slump, but he returns the hug. “What do you want me to say Lydia? That I'm okay with it? Or that I don't care?”

Her embrace loosens as her own shoulders slump. “I just want you to be honest for a few minutes, you said earlier that there was something interesting about Jordan.”

“More in a 'what is he' sense, there aren't many creatures that can survive being burned alive Granted I will admit he is attractive.”

Progress? “Look, I just...” her thoughts tangle a bit and she finds herself opening her eyes to actually _look_ at Peter, because she means this. “I really do like him, enough that yes, if I weren't with you I would be with him. I'm not saying you should jump into bed with him, unless you want to. Maybe contemplate the idea that _I_ would like to be with him, as well as you.” It would be an interesting balancing act for her, but she thinks she could do it.

“For the most part the idea of it makes me want to drag you upstairs and fuck you senseless.” His voice is a low, dangerous rumble, one that makes her shiver. “Just to prove that I can.” One of his hands moves up to just under the bite he gave her, rubbing the skin under it pointedly.

She will _not_ moan, certain that Derek would be able to hear _that_. “What about the other part?” It's a reckless question, but she _feels_ reckless.

Peter doesn't answer for a few tense seconds, but she can see when he comes to a conclusion of sorts. “The other part is content enough for now to wait and watch. Though...”

Lydia can't help but pounce. “'Though' what?”

He gives her a look, one which considering Peter is probably very affectionate. It's affectionate and not angry, not that she can't deal with angry Peter. “Though his scent and body language when I came down made my wolf take notice.” He reaches up to brush her hair back gently. “You might be the one I and my wolf want, but well...we could never resist a good chase.”

The image those words evoke is too strong to resist: _running through the woods on a full moon, the best kind of fear and panic coursing through her veins._

Peter's nostrils flare as he inhales sharply. “What sort of thought did you have there, dear Lydia?”

“Just a fantasy.” She shrugs as if it means nothing. “Running through the preserve during a full moon, knowing I'm being chased, being played with.”

Peter's eyes flare and when he speaks she can see inhumanly sharp teeth. “There's a full moon this weekend.” He steps closer, looming over her slightly.

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “I hadn't realized,” sarcasm drips from her voice.

He grins and leans down to kiss her. His teeth are out, making it a much more delicate process than any kiss has a right to be. She enjoys it though, and pulls away reluctantly. “I should go, Jordan's waiting for me.”

Peter's eyes darken dangerously, before he gives a quiet sigh and pulls away. “Of course, go.”

Without stopping to think about it Lydia steps up to Peter, rises up on her toes, and lays a brief kiss on his chin. “I'll call you tomorrow,” she tells him before turning and leaving. Hoping Peter thinks on what she has asked and said, and makes a decision soon.

—

Jordan's glad he Lydia let him go without question, he just...needs to get a hold of himself. He's only been alive again for a few hours, though adjusting feels more difficult that it has in past years, and he's already been bombarded by too many things.

Chief among them seems to be Peter, something that catches Jordan-Erwann completely off guard. What's even worse is he can't tell if the pull is the debt between them, or the beginnings of attraction. He _knows_ it shouldn't be the debt He's been in debt to other fae, even other supernatural beings before and it never felt like this. The deep breath he takes is shaky. Which leaves only attraction and lust, an idea Erwann is not going to reject out of hand. Sure 99% of his lovers have been women, of the few he's had, but he knows there's a one percent of men he can find himself attracted to.

 _Does Peter actually fall in that one percent?_ He groans and gently thuds his head against the dashboard. Thinking that the iron in Lydia's car is making him foggy headed—why else would he be so confused?—he gets out and begins pacing in the parking lot. It doesn't surprise him that he ends up in front of one of the stunted and gnarled maple trees.

Sitting down he leans against it, feeling the sap moving sluggishly through the tree. His sigh brushes the smooth buckled bark and the maple wakes up. Thin spring leaves, leaf buds and branches rustling, a few of them even leaning down and brushing against him. Reaching a hand up he tangles his fingers in the twiggy branches. Their stiff bodies do their best to return the favor.

What to do, what to think?

There's always the option of trying to put the idea completely from his mind. He knows he's deeply attracted to Lydia, but their roles of knight and princess give him a sort of cage and channel for those feelings. With Peter there is no such restriction, well their debt but when that's resolved they would be more or less equals.

To distract himself, if only a few seconds, he finds himself debating if he should tell Derek that he could tap these maples for sap if he wanted to. Untangling his hand from the leaves and branches—which rustles in a fashion a human would probably call a sigh—he moves it down to the roots, which even at night still greedily suck up water. Reaching out with his magic he can feel the other trees through the ground as well. All of them are doing well enough, but he gives a little boost to all of them anyways, especially the one that has a hint of blight creeping in.

As he pulls back into himself there's a bit of relief to realize he's settled more, the world not seeming so chaotic and wild. Returning to himself means that the part of him that 'stayed behind' is more than happy to remind him of his conundrum with Lydia and Peter.

He is not sure what it is about those two that make him want to...bash his own head against a wall a few times. A sense of wonderful frustration lingers about them, and he finds it's more than willing to drive him into things he wouldn't usually contemplate.

Passion is passion, and whether it drove you into the arms of one or two or more hardly mattered to his sensibilities. Now that there's potential that it could happen to him? Lydia, if her kiss last week was anything to go by, seemed to reciprocate his feelings enough. Peter? Jordan feels certain he won't understand that man any time soon. Like sharp, clever tongues, that's something Jordan has always found attractive.

“Jordan?” Lydia's voice calling out snaps him from his thoughts.

He stands and steps around the tree, gently batting at branches that try to grab his shirt. “Over here.”

Lydia turns and gives a smile as she sees him approaching. “I thought you were going to wait in the car?”

“I wanted to clear my head, and that much iron always makes me a little woozy.” A half-truth at best, because as long as the drive or wait isn't too long he can stand it quite well. It's only extended periods of time in cars that makes him sick.

“Oh.” Lydia's expression turns thoughtful. “Sorry.”

He shrugs. “Nothing to apologize for.”

Her smile returns, though softer and warmer somehow. He thinks if he leaned down and kissed her right now she would be happily respond. “Should I take you home?”

'As opposed to the station?' nearly passes his lips, but he holds it back because it's more than a little rude—a sure sign that he probably needs to sleep. “I would appreciate that.”

She walks over to the driver door and starts climbing in. “Come on then.”

Feeling unable to refuse, something that happens a lot around Lydia, he climbs in.

—

Peter doesn't exactly _regret_ that he let Lydia leave relatively unmolested tonight, but considering some of the questions she asked of him tonight it doesn't sit well with him. Laying on his bed, which smells strongly of her and sex, he stares up at the ceiling high above him and thinks.

He hadn't been lying to her earlier when he'd said polyamory wasn't something werewolves were usually known for, point in fact it makes the wolf in him restless and a little wary. Though there's also the human fear that Jordan might swoop in and take Lydia from him irrevocably. Both are valid and natural.

It doesn't bother him that Jordan, that _Parrish_ , is a man. Peter also hadn't been lying when he'd told Lydia his parents never knew if he'd be bring home a boyfriend or a girlfriend the times he did bring someone home to meet his folks. He needs to be honest with himself, with the fact that Parrish seems quite intelligent and quick-witted both of which are large pluses when it comes to rousing Peter's sexual interest.

So, he at least finds Jordan marginally attractive himself; but that's not exactly enough invite the other man into his bed in any way shape or form. With an annoyed sigh Peter sits up, realizing he isn't going to get to bed anytime soon.

Getting up he walks over to the stairwell and pulls the cover over it so as not to disturb Derek, before walking over to his, disappointingly small, record collection. Pulling out one of his few instrumental records he sets it to play as he sits down next to his battered old record player.

The music's there for him to focus on something else for a little while but it only half works, his mind working as best it can through the tangle of thoughts and emotions while he tries to come to a decision of some sort.

By the time the record is finished he does come to a decision of sorts, and it's that he needs to know more about Jordan Parrish before choosing something conclusively.

—

Lydia gets up earlier than she usually does, all because of Jordan—though not for the reasons she would have liked. While she gets ready for the day she tries her best to focus, or center herself, or something that might make this experiment go better. When she's about as ready as she thinks she can get, she goes back into her bedroom.

Sitting at her vanity Lydia closes her eyes and just lets herself breathe. Jordan's words from last night echoing a little in her head: _“All fae that are explicitly Winter have some control over cold...”_ So besides the banshee stuff she doesn't understand she can also work as a drink cooler. She gives a soft snort at her own shitty joke.

 _How exactly can I go about_ doing _cold stuff?_  There's always doing the obvious and thinking cold thoughts. She breaths again, and moves her hands so they're resting on her mirror—she has no idea what this attempt might do, and she'd rather just replace the mirror than her whole vanity. She tries to remember the coldest she's ever been.

Two years ago her family had gone on vacation to Norway in the summer. While there she'd been able to do a traditional sauna, she hadn't quite listened as well as she could've and the first go around she'd just jumped straight into the plunge pool. On reflection it hadn't been that cold, but the temperature difference between it and the sauna had been a shock to her body, one that still makes her shiver.

She holds the memory of that chill as best she can and lets it build up. While she's sure the complete process isn't at all like glamour, she can still use that as a good jumping off point. She attempts to push that cold memory out of her and thinks, _when I open my eyes my mirror is going to be covered in frost._

Taking another deep breath she opens her eyes, well her mirror's _not_ covered in frost; but when she tries pulling her hands away they stick for a brief second and there're ice crystals clinging to them. It's a start.

Going into her bathroom she grabs a towel and dries her hands, taking it back with her to wipe down her mirror. Sitting back down she tries again. This time instead of a slow insistent push she tries to shove the memory of that cold all out at once.

Hearing something crackle she opens her eyes to see her hands covered in ice, enough that she's actually stuck to her mirror. _Alright, so maybe I didn't really think that through._

It presents another challenge for her. It should be just as easy for her to take all that cold back into herself. Instead of closing her eyes again she focuses on the ice, and mentally she pictures all that cold re-entering her body, getting sucked up as if by a vacuum.

At first she doesn't think anything's happening, but a few minutes pass and she's pretty certain all the water running down her mirror, and onto the towel, is because of her and not because of the ambient temperature in the room.

Finally she can move her hands again and drying them off for the final time she tosses her towel into her hamper and pulling on her shoes she heads downstairs, if she's not careful she's going to be late for school.

*

If Lydia had actually been worried about her grades failing she probably would have actually paid more attention in class, as it is most of the day passes by in a daze. Though even in that daze she doesn't fail to miss the glances every one of her friends, except for Danny, sends her throughout the day. Scott's are the most intense of all, like he's expecting her to do even more than she already has.

It does makes her want to _do_ something, though not in the way Scott is probably hoping. It might have been a shock yesterday to find out that she needed more glamour than she would think to use on a werewolf, or maybe it's just Alphas. More experimenting would be required, though there weren't a whole host of Betas to pull from to test and see if there was a difference in the amount of glamour required. Now she knows and can adjust accordingly.

She resists the urge though, being that cruel and petty is a level she doesn't want to stoop too. Even if it meant she had to put up with more pressure than she would like. Scott—and Malia at least before they deciphered the second part of the deadpool—seemed to think she could just magically pluck the needed answers from the air, and it just...it didn't work like that!

Yet she has no idea what she can do to make everyone understand that, which fills her with frustration. Her phone buzzes during IB history distracting her. Pulling it out she stares at the notification that she has a text from Stiles.

Tapping her screen she opens it. _Should meet at my place after school, figure out cypher_.

Lydia sighs, Stiles might not be as bad as Scott, but he still expected more of her than she could actually give. In fact it's enough that she almost texts back 'no', but it really would be too much to ask that she be able to deal with these problems at a later date. She couldn't afford to be selfish when people were dying around her and she could possibly stop it.

Despite that Jordan's words from last week are still lodged in her mind: “ _Try to think of yourself first_.”

She sighs again. _Fine_ , she texts back. Doing this just might save herself, along with everyone else.

*

Once at Stiles' they waste no time in going up to his room and opening up the cypher. She doesn't had as much to type up as last time. Right away the two of them start trying various answers: _Lorraine, Madeline, Maddie, yacht, lake, storm,_ even _IBM_. Nothing works, and thank God there isn't an attempt limit otherwise she and Stiles might well and truly be screwed.

With a groan Stiles stands, staring at his clue board like it'll give him the answer. “She wrote this code for you right? Or with the intention you'd be the one to solve it. So you've _got_ to know the cypher key. Come on Lydia! There's got to be something you two did together.” She's starting to get truly annoyed with Stiles' prodding.

“No Stiles. There isn't.” She takes a deep breath, imposing calm on herself. “My dad didn't want me associating with a woman they thought was crazy, or did you forget everything I talked about at the station?” Despite her attempt at calm her voice still breaks in anger. “I’m sure I can count the number of times we met on one hand, I hardly even _know_ her. Thinking that she wrote this for me is also a huge assumption.”

Stiles starts pacing, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “There's gotta be a clue somewhere. Writing it for you is the only possibility Lydia, otherwise why bother insisting that _you_ get it in her will?” She's loathed to admit it but he has a point with that. Almost absently he kicks a book out of his way, and Lydia finds herself resisting the urge to snap that he should take better care of his books. “Did she send you things? What _do_ you remember about her?”

Lydia wants to hit Stiles for a single, blinding second, it sits like a lump of ice in her chest. “All I _remember_ Stiles is that she probably smelled like lilies and chrysanthemums.” She grits her teeth, trying to contain her anger. Stiles' first question sparks something in her. “She...sent me presents some times.”

His eyes alight with excitement and he's on her like a bloodhound. “What kind of things?”

Closing her eyes Lydia casts her mind back, searching. “Books mostly.. she said...she _wrote_ , in a card, that you couldn't hide intelligence like mine, not for long.” Though Lydia'd managed it for eight years, she thinks that's pretty damn impressive.

“What kind of books?” Stiles' question doesn't sound as eager as she'd thought it would.

She finds she wants to be in the quiet of the lake house's soundproof room, fewer distractions. She, she doesn't know why she wants that though, that place is seeped in so much misery she wants to destroy it too. It adds to the cold in her chest. “Women in history mostly...Marie Curie, Hedy Lamar, Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin, the Harvard Computers, Ada Lovelace, Katherine Johnson, Alice Roosevelt.”

“Harvard Computers?”

Lydia won't snap that Stiles should know who they are. Instead she breathes deeply trying to chip away at the ice inside of her, to establish some sort of calm. “They were a group of women hired by William Pickering to process astronomical data.” She shrugs. “Sometimes she sent me fiction too: Ursula K. Le Guin, Madeleine L'Engle, Diana Wynne Jones, the Tiffany Aching novels. Those weren't as frequent.” After she'd read them, or more likely after a few months of them collecting dust, she'd get rid of them. Most ending up in used bookstores or as library donations. The ones she's kept barely take up half a shelf, and even then she's been winnowing away at the pile.

It's not that they don't interest her it's just...she just didn't—and _doesn't_ _—_ _want_ to own them. Too much association with an annoyed dad, the implied connection to a grandmother who had been thought to be mentally ill. Were those the first stirrings of her banshee powers? Because she sure as hell does not remember either of her parents talking about those sorts of things, not where she could hear them. She still knew it.

“Did you have any favorites?” Stiles question shakes her from her train of thought.

She shrugs. “Not really, I mean I enjoyed learning about all those women in math and science, but...” she shrugs again.

He makes a face that pretty much conveys _her_ frustration as well. “Great, square one again.” He starts pacing again and she resists the urge to tie him to a chair, she has never seen Stiles this antsy before and it's starting to get to _her_. He quickly stops though, “I'll, uh, be right back.” He leaves his room and a few seconds later she hears what is probably the bathroom door shut, _focusing on something else now_.

The blinking cursor feels like it's taunting her, and she kind of hates it. Setting her fingers on they keyboard she narrows her eyes. How is she supposed to figure this out? How is it that she'll know the answer, but not anyone else?

She just wants to _know!_

Lydia freezes, no, it couldn't be that simple could it?

With shaky fingers she types it in and hits enter.

Immediately the code starts to decipher. Name after name appearing on screen. At first she thinks it's another part of the deadpool, but none of these names have numbers next to them. “Stiles,” she calls out. “I figured out the key.”

A faint crash from the bathroom reaches her ears, and she'd rather not parse _what_ Stiles did to make that sound. He doesn't come running out right away, and his pants are zipped when he re-enters his bedroom. “You got it?” He sounds a little incredulous, like without his help figuring it out should be impossible.

She arches an eyebrow as he comes and leans over her shoulder. “Yes I got it.” Only by pure chance. Without that chance she has no idea how they would have figured it out.

“What was it?”

“Banshee.” They both stare at the list for a good long while before she speaks again. “Is this making any more sense to you than it is to me?”

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Stiles shake his head. “No. Maybe we should take this to my dad, he can run all the names through their system and see what pops up.”

It's as good an idea as any, she hits print and soon the printer spits it out, then it spits out another page, and another. She and Stiles share a look.

“Christ if this is Skynet I seriously might kill someone.”

His words startle a laugh out of her as she reaches over and grabs the papers. The one at the bottom is the Lorraine code, the rest... “It's the deadpool,” except, she looks closer. “It's been changed.” She can feels Stiles lean in closer. “Derek's not on it anymore, and,” oh God. “My price went up.” Her nails try to dig into her skin through the paper.

The printer is still going at it, and with each new page her panic ratchets up higher. “Stiles. Make it, make it stop.” She hates how needy and panicked she sounds.

He reaches over and yanks the plug out of the socket. The printer whirs angrily, but stops printing. Warm hands, but not the hands she really wants, gently grab her hands and start uncurling them. “Are you okay Lydia?”

“No.” She wants Jordan, or Peter, or fuck even Danny. Someone that will hold her and not ask questions. She only has Stiles, and his unending litany of questions.

“Look.” Over everything she finds herself relieved he doesn't try to hug her. “Let's go to the station and we can talk to my dad, he can help us alright? Let me call Scott first.” He lets go of her and takes a few steps away.

While he's preoccupied she pulls out her own phone. Shaky fingers take longer to compose her text, but she needs to let Peter know what happened. _Derek no longer on deadpool_ part of her wants to leave it at that, but she forces herself to continue: _my price went up_.

She hits send and tries to calm the tempest inside her.

It's not until they're in Stiles' Jeep and pulling out of the driveway that her phone buzzes, letting her know she has a text.

“Who's that?” Stiles' fingers restlessly tap on his steering wheel.

She pulls her phone out of her purse. “I don't know.” Which is true. She _thinks_ it's from Peter, but she won't actually know until she checks. Luckily Stiles has to focus on the road and can't stare at her as she looks at her phone. _Do you want me there?_ Peter's question makes her more relieved than it has any right to.

 _W/ Stiles._ Lydia finds herself wishing she wasn't though.

This time his response is almost instantaneous, _try to stay safe_.

Her exhale is shaky, grateful the sounds of the road are too loud for Stiles to notice. “Anything I should know about?”

“No.” She doesn't care her reply is far sharper than it needs to be. Maybe it'll get Stiles to stop pushing.

He quickly throws her a hurt look before turning his attention back on the road. The rest of the ride to the department is silent.

Deputy Rodgers at the front desk tells them the sheriff is out on patrol, but that Jordan's in. They don't even have to actually ask her anything either, she just volunteered it. Lydia thinks that might be a sign that they're spending far too much time at the station. She even lets them in.

Jordan looks up clearly a little surprised, and pleased to see her at least, to see them walking towards his desk. “Hey, what is up?”

Reaching into her purse she pulls out Lorraine’s list. “We decoded the cypher from Lorraine, but we have no idea who any of the names are.” She moves around his desk so she's standing next to him. She _wants_ to touch him, but she can't. Not with Stiles here—or not with him asking more questions. Being this close to him is comforting in and of itself, the air around him feels soothing and cooler. She holds out the list.

“I should have enough access to look them up, see if we can't find something that connects them all.” He gives her an earnest smile as he takes the list and shakes his mouse to wake his computer up.

He quickly types in all the names, except for Lorraine’s, and the computer starts searching. Far sooner than she thought it would information starts appearing on screen. “Let's see here.” Jordan clicks on the first name. “Brasch, Paula, a patient at Eichen House,” Lydia finds herself stiffening, she is really starting to hate that place. “Her death was reported as a suicide.”

Lydia starts getting a sinking sensation in her stomach as Jordan clicks the next name. “Chin, Elisa. Committed to Eichen House, cause of death suicide.”

Again, and again, and again. By the time they have gone through all the names Stiles is jittering with excitement. “All suicides, all within the last five years. How's Eichen still in business?”

She has to agree with him on that. You would think _someone_ would find that suspicious and investigate. “How many of those are actual suicides? Or faked like Lorraine’s? Were these normal people or supernatural creatures?” Lydia finds it's harder for her to call Lorraine her grandmother than it is calling Natalie her mom. She isn't sure if that's because of the estrangement between Lorraine and her son, or because Lydia knows what Lorraine did. That second question though is really the most important, was _this_ the start of the deadpool? Or did this inspire the deadpool? Or is it just coincidence?

Stiles shrugs. “Eichen has a records room, maybe we can find out more there.”

Even though they haven't said they're going Lydia's already resigning herself to the fact that they are. “Great.”

The smiles Stiles gives her looks like it is meant to be encouraging, but it fails. “Pretty sure it won't be as bad as anything with the Nogitsune.”

Lydia shivers, the fact that Stiles is joking about _that_ is not something she appreciates. Also, she's pretty sure Stiles just jinxed them—and how is this her life that jinxing is probably a real thing? “I'll be out in a second alright?”

He doesn't ask about that and nods before sauntering out, once he's completely gone she turns to Jordan, patiently waiting. “Can, could I get a hug from you?”

Part of her just wants to hug him without asking, but insidiously her memory of last week's kiss has crept back into the forefront of her mind and she doesn't want to scare him away like that again. Not now when there's the possibility she and Peter might test the waters with him. So she'll be polite and ask.

Without responding he stands and wraps his arms around her. “What's wrong?” One of his hands starts rubbing up and down her back.

She wraps her own arms around him and lets herself cling. “When...” she takes a deep breath to steady herself, she will _not_ cry. “When Stiles and I printed out Lorraine’s list his printer also printed out the deadpool for some reason, and—” she chokes back a sob. “Derek got taken off the list, and most of his money got moved to me.”

Jordan's grip turns painfully tight. “Ow.” His grip loosens.

“That's not making me any more comfortable with you going to Eichen.” He takes a step back, but his hands stay on her. “We could just leave, go to the Winter Court anyone with any sense wouldn't even think of angering your mother, especially by trying to assassinate you.”

It's so tempting to say 'yes', to just forget about everyone else and leave. She's sure she could spend whole lifetimes learning how to rule a court; but renouncing the 'normal' world like that means most likely leaving behind the friends she cares about. Definitely abandoning any hope of going to college for the time being. Let alone her relationship with Peter, God, she has no idea what sort of clusterfuck that would be. Gnawing guilt at not telling him about her makes her want to leave even less.

That realization brings with it a different sort of emotion, one she would never have associated with Peter before. It’s not quite love, but she doesn’t know what else to call it. Still it’s enough that she realizes she doesn’t _want_ to leave Peter. She steps closer to Jordan again, and resumes their hug. “I, I don't think I can right now. Sorry.”

He huffs. “No need to apologize. It's a decision even I'd hesitate to make. Don't forget it's an option, just say the word and we can be gone.”

Relief floods her, to know that there's a plan B if Peter's plan—since when did she decide Scott's plan just wasn't going to work?—should fail. Maybe she'll trick Peter into coming with her, or just straight up glamour him. Maybe Malia too, she's still too new at being human and Lydia doesn't really trust the others when it comes to integrating her. Or maybe Lydia's just biased towards herself.

“That's, that's good to know.” She gives him a shaky smile.

“It's no problem.” He peers at something behind her and steps away. “You should go, Stiles looks like he's getting impatient.”

She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, that's nothing new. I'll...see you later?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, then appears to hesitate. “It _would_ be nice to see you when we're not dealing with life and death. There's a _lot_ of things you could still learn about us.” She knows he means 'us' in the sense of the fae, but she could hope it meant 'us' as in the two of them.

“I agree.” She crossed her arms, tucking her hands in. “Though I have no idea when that might happen.” Part of her wants to go up and kiss him, but she's not going to do that again, not until she and Peter come to an agreement of some sort. She won't be needlessly cruel to Peter. “Talk to you later.”

Jordan calls out a soft 'goodbye' as she leaves the bullpen. In the entryway she snags the back of Stiles shirt and gives a brief tug. “Come on, let us get this over with.”

“Wow Lydia, impatient much?” Still Stiles follows her out to her car.

She doesn't deign that with an answer, just starts the car and points it towards Eichen.

Getting into Eichen is disturbingly easy this time. Lydia would have thought there would be _more_ of a staff presence in the evening, but the front desk is actually _empty._  It doesn't help her mood that she's getting a pounding headache just standing there.

Stiles probably breaks a law, but when is that new?, when he goes behind the desk to look up where Brunski's office is. He's an official they know they can bribe, because Lydia's pretty sure they don't let just anyone into the records room when they ask. “Alright got it, come on.”

Rubbing the bridge of her nose to try and forestall a migraine she follows. The further in the go the more claustrophobic she feels—how could Meredith, or even Lorraine, stand to be here? They finally reach Brunski's door and Stiles doesn't bother with knocking, _typical_.

She follows more slowly, her headache feeling worse, she nearly digs through her purse to see if she has any painkillers but she resists because she has no idea what sort of image that would present. As if through water she can hear Brunski and Stiles talking, their tones derisive and dismissive.

Then they both grow silent and she realizes they are both looking at her expectantly and, _fucking seriously?_ With the most aggravated sigh she can manage, and pushing past as much of the pain as she can, she reaches into her purse and grabs her wallet. “I _was_ going to use this to pay the cleaners.” Not that there's a stain for them to clean up anymore anyways. “But fine.” Opening her wallet she grabs two ones and concentrates as hard as she can. Hopefully before anyone notices differently they're three hundred dollar bills.

Contemptuously she tosses both on the desk and prays Brunski doesn't try to pick them up. To her own eyes they're clearly imperfect copies, ones that wouldn't even stand up to the scrutiny of a ten year old. She's desperate enough to try anything at the moment, even with her headache. The man stares at them for a second before he smiles. “See that wasn't so bad.” He turns around in his seat and grabs his key ring, at the same time turning off his ancient tape deck.

A frisson of _something_ races down her spine and she finds herself sharing a look with Stiles. The both of them managing to share with the other that something wasn't right here. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Brunski slip something else into his pocket before stepping out from behind his desk. “Follow me.”

Reluctantly she and Stiles do. All the while she wishes she had a knife, an arrow, _anything_ she could stab Brunski with, because this is _wrong, wrong, wrong_. But they follow.

Halfway down what must be the third hallway Lydia nearly turns and bolts, the claustrophobic feeling, the headache, the almost whispers she can just barely hear. It's starting to be too much. She _knows_ they're closer to answers than they ever have before and she can't just toss that away because her head hurts.

She just takes a deep breath and forces the pain back as best she can—Peter would be wonderful right now. Finally though they reach the door to the records room. Brunski seems to enjoy taking his time finding the right key. “You'll only have about half an hour to find whatever you want.”

She and Stiles share a look of frustration, though she thinks they could find what they need in that time. Brunski opens the door and makes a sweeping gesture. “Have fun kiddies.”

They step in and Stiles closes the door behind them. Reaching into her pocket she pulls out Lorraine’s list. She unfolds the page, then stares at it for a few moments. “Stiles...”

The clang of a filing cabinet fills the room as Stiles whirls around to face her. “Huh? What is it?”

“Why did you write...” Her brain tries to wrangle how she should pronounce the new name on the list. “Zdzisław on here?” After she says it she knows she said it wrong, but Stiles seems to get it. If the widening eyes and sudden flurry of movement towards her is anything to go by.

He nearly rips the page out of her hands. “What? Why? When?”

Lydia wonders if she should actually bother with trying to answer any of those questions, especially considering none were answerable by anyone other than Stiles. “Why are you asking me, you're the one who wrote it.” Though she wonders _when_ he wrote it too, she'd thought she'd had the list on her the whole time. It must have been back at the station.

“Lydia, despite the fact that is my handwriting I'm 98 percent sure I did not write that.”

His words evoke memories of the Nogitsune, and dear God they do not need another one, or anything like it really. “Who's Zdzisław anyways?”

Stiles blushes. “Uh, me.”

 _Wow_ , she starts to speak, but stops when the door starts opening again. She catches Stiles' worried glance out of the corner of her eye and they both start shuffling back, tensing.

Brunski steps in, and while Lydia doesn't exactly relax, she's not as wary.

Right up until Brunski doesn't say anything before going up to Stiles and coldcocking him.

Lydia cries out as Stiles goes down and she steps forward to go to him, but Brunski's hand grabs her gripping her shoulder tightly making her cry out again. This time because he's squeezing the bite Peter gave her—and if Peter's incidentally the reason she dies she's going to do her damnedest to come back and go all _Poltergeist_ on his ass. “Now, now Lydia you should be more worried about yourself.”

He shoves her down and towards a support pillar. Her back hits it sharply, doesn't hurt as much as her shoulder. Without even being prompted to she slumps to the floor, she thinks if she could focus through pain she could glamour her way out of whatever Brunski's planning. The pain isn't fading away like it should.

She doesn't fight when he starts shackling her to the pillar. She does turn her head to watch him though as he goes over to Stiles, and shackles him up too before slapping his face a few times. “Wakey, wakey Stilinski.”

Stiles groans and wobbles a little, but he does seem to be coming to. Brunski leaves him and starts walking back to her, pulling something, no two things, out of his pocket. The first is a tape, which he sets down, the second looks like a pencil case. He opens it and sets it down next to the tape and Lydia shivers. Hypodermic needles rest innocuously inside.

“You know I don't consider myself a serial killer, I consider it a public service. The monsters that end up here in Eichen are the worst of the worst, and even if they don't say it everyone heaves a sigh of relief when they're gone.” He reaches down to and pulls out one of the needles. He checks it, but dread flicker through her when she notices he just sets it back down without depressing the air. She, she doesn't want that anywhere near her.

Brunski seems not to care about her panic, if he notices it at all, and picks up the tape. “Since I have you here.” He waves the tape back and forth. “Maybe you can answer some questions for me.”

Apparently tape players are a dime a dozen here in Eichen because there's one in the records room. Brunski pops the tape in and hits the play button.

At first there's only some crackling static, then Brunski's voice. “ _I_ _t's time Lorraine_.” She stiffens.

“Lydia,” Stiles sounds tense. She tries to turn towards him, but Brunski's there grabbing and tilting her head, forcing her to bare her neck to him. Something in her recoils at having to do something so submissive for him, the prick of the needle in her neck quickly distracts her from that.

“ _I know why you're here,_ ” Lorraine’s voice is raspy and catches Lydia by surprise. _This_ is her 'grandmother'? She sounds...she sounds tired. “ _They told me you were coming,” Lorraine wheezes_ and for some reason it shocks something in Lydia. _“They told me I was going to die today_.”

 _“Who told you Lorraine?”_ Sounds of movement come out from over the tape.

_“The voices.”_

The needle presses deeper into Lydia's neck and she chokes back a sound of pain. “This is where you should pay attention.”

Vaguely she hears Stiles trying to say something, but she can't hear him over the tape, she barely even feels the needle anymore. “ _Please don’t...”_

“ _Please don’t hurt you? It’s a little late for that Lorraine.”_

“ _Please don’t hurt the Changeling, she doesn’t have a choice. And please...” A wheezing breath. “Please be kind to my granddaughter, you’ll be all she has.”_

For a few seconds Lorraine’s words don’t register. When they do though it’s a punch that leaves her breathless.  _O_ _h God_. _She knew? O_ n the heels of that: _Meredith? You did that to your own..._

The needle presses a little deeper, bring her back to focus. “Care to explain that to me? Who’s the Changeling and why am I all you have?”

Lydia blinks back tears and wishes Stiles weren’t here—this is a shame she doesn’t want share with him even if he doesn't understand it—at the same moment she knows that Brunski’s going to die tonight.

—

Jordan has always considered himself a curious man, he feels it’s what makes him a good deputy—though the glamour and his generally easy-going nature don’t hurt. It helps that the Queen encouraged that curiosity, especially when it came to humans. She and Summer Queen Asha were apparently joys in that department when compared to the now dead Fire Queen Damasca, if the stories were to be believed. Then again part of what Jordan could remember of Lydia's father Hjörtur was that his curiosity had always seemed tempered, so maybe there was truth to the horror stories.

He doesn’t find it strange to be flipping through the reports of the people on Lorraine’s list.

The fact that they’re all suicides makes everything _highly_ suspect, but something tells him there’s more it it than that. He goes through each report again, eyes scanning... _Brunski..._ he zeros in on that. Brunski’s the one who reported the body?

He turns to the next report, Brunski again. And the next, Brunski. Again, and again, and again. Dread feels uncomfortably hot in his chest. He knows it could all be correlation, but the fact Brunski’s the one who reported all those suicides, well it doesn’t look good.

Lydia and Stiles went to go blackmail him...

He gets up in a rush and practically sprints to his cruiser. Once he’s on the street he turns his siren on and all but presses the gas pedal to the floor. The car roars and leaps forward, racing towards Eichen. _Fifteen miles_ , it’s not too great a distance. While he knows he needs to contact dispatch and not deal with this all by his lonesome he doesn’t pick up his transceiver. It'd be hard to explain _why_ he wants the call out the cavalry to storm Eichen house, and he can't glamour his way into what he wants, it took a bit of trial and error to realizes it didn't work over radio waves.

He'll wait until he gets to Eichen, his foot presses the gas down further. He barely pays any attention to the cars pulling out of his way, or traffic lights. He'll get to Eichen as fast as he can, come hell or high water.

When he does get there he doesn't even bother turning his car off, drawing his gun as he bursts through the door. The orderly starts and begins to panic at the sight of him. “Calm down,” he fills his voice with as much command, and glamour, as he can. “ Once I leave you are going to call sheriff Stilinski and tell him to get here _now_. You are going to stay here until he arrives.”

The orderly goes glassy eyed and nods. Jordan would love to go racing in right now, but he can't waste time running about. “Did two teenagers come in recently?”

Again the orderly nods, and Jordan feels certain any human would find it disconcerting. “Yes, they went to see Brunski about getting into the records room.”

“Where is that?” No point in wandering around.

The orderly gives directions without even seeming to think about it. Making sure the safety's off on his gun he heads towards the records room.

Reaching the room he, as quietly as possible, tries the door, silently snarling when it doesn't open. With his free hand he reaches out and rests it on the wood, this is his element and it _will_ listen to him. He fills the door with power, quickly going to work to try and make it as weak and brittle as possible, lucky him this isn't also a reinforced steel door.

Once he feels it's weak enough he takes his hand away and steps back until he just touches the opposite wall, taking a deep breath he turns slightly so his shoulder is facing the door and charges.

As hoped the door breaks on impact, the sound loud enough to surprise everyone in the room. Jordan doesn't bother with taking in all of the room, his eyes focusing completely on Lydia; noticing only a second later Brunski kneeling next to her, _with a needle in her throat_.

Jordan-Erwann's vision goes white around the edges as rage blooms cold in his chest. Without hesitation he points the gun at Brunski. “Take your finger off the plunger and remove the needle from her neck.” Anger tinges his glamour, but he can't help it. This, this... _human_ thought he could threaten Lydia and not suffer the consequences?

This time Brunski _looks_ at him, though his attitude is just as derisive as the last time they met. “What, you gonna shoot me? I bet you've never even...”

Jordan-Erwann doesn't hesitate. Brunski's body falls back, dead. He doesn't even care about the inquiry he knows he'll have to face for killing someone. The man deserved to die.

Flicking the safety on he steps into the room towards Lydia. She looks like she had the last time they were in Eichen, not all there, so he makes his movements slow and obvious. “Are you two alright?” He's more worried about Lydia than Stiles, but he should be courteous and ask after the both of them. Reaching up a little into his right pant leg he pulls out one of his titanium knives to cut Lydia free.

“Yeah, besides some possible mental trauma, but hey, when's that anything new?” Well he's glad to know the imminent threat of death did nothing to Stiles' ability to snark.

Halfway though the first of Lydia's restraints he feels more than anything else someone move behind him and before he can really process that realization he's dropped the knife and his body's turning gun raised, safety off in less than a heartbeat. _Meredith?_ He hesitates.

His body starts stepping back, and he can't fire his gun at her. “He did deserve to die didn't he? But he wasn't on my list.” Her? Meredith's the Benefactor?

 _Stars_ , why didn't anyone think of it?

Meredith looks at him, her head cocked a little to the side. “I didn't want anyone to think of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Some things come to light, and Peter and Jordan have a moment. 
> 
> -
> 
> I hope my twist was interesting for everyone, and have fun trying to say Stiles' name.
> 
> Also some seeding of the next plot when I'm done w/ s4.


	12. Chapter 12

Lydia opens her mouth to scream. She can feel it building in her throat, but somehow she knows it's not for death, it's for pain. She can use it, get to Meredith before anything else can happen.

Meredith sees and does _something_ ; and just like with the Oni a few months before Lydia feels her scream die in her throat. _Nonononono. How can she do that?_ As if nothing had happened Meredith sits across from her, cross legged, tilting her head. Now that Lydia knows the truth she can see bits of the Martins in their daughter, she has Richard's jaw and Natalie's nose. Her hair looks a lot like George's, her grandfather, does in the old photos of him before he went bald. Rapidly she begins to blink back tears, she's _not_ going cry.

She finds herself starting to squirm under Meredith's scrutiny, especially with Stiles still there, for some reason Jordan doesn't bother her as much. “You like my trick? “ Meredith asks. “ _They_ taught it to me.”

Opening her mouth Lydia tries to speak, but finds even that's taken from her. Stiles would most likely ask nosy questions too. “Who're _they_ Meredith?”

Meredith turns, looking as if she's forgotten about Stiles, out of the corner of her eye she can see Jordan. Squatting next to her caught in observation for now.

“The ones who took me. They taught me all sorts of things before I left. But they're not the ones who broke me.”

Dread and fear coalesce in Lydia's stomach. She wants to _speak_. This isn't the sort of confirmation she'd been hoping for. It's just...too much for now.

As if sensing Lydia's train of thought Meredith shakes her head. “Can't let you talk Lydia, can't let you scream. Bad things happen when you scream. You need to be a quiet little mouse for me.” She reaches out and gently pats Lydia's cheek. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Jordan strain to try and do something. Caught up in a different variation of the same thing she is. “It's not too much really. Too much is when you beg them to stop, but they keep on going.” Anger creeps into Meredith's voice.

“I just, I wanted them to leave me alone.” Meredith tilts her head again, this time so she can stare at Brunski's body. “They all did, though he had to help.” She smiles, “It's a lot quieter in here”—she taps her temple—“than it used to be. I forgot how nice that could be.”

So this was all some deranged revenge plot? If Lydia could she thinks she would be laughing hysterically.

Meredith's attention snaps back to her. “ _Not revenge_. They...no one stopped her, they should have stopped her. No one did and they had to be taught that that wasn't acceptable.” Tears fill Meredith's eyes and Lydia fights off sympathy. “It makes me want to go back to _them_ , everyone there would have stopped her.”

“What–” Before Stiles can continue with his question, what Lydia thinks is the entire sheriff's department comes rushing in through the door.

For a short while after that everything's a bit of a blur. In the ensuing chaos Meredith gets handcuffed and taken away, Lydia gets unbound—though still she can't speak—and so is Stiles. Somehow she loses track of Jordan, though she can't tell if it's because he leaves or if he glamours himself to not draw attention to the fact that he seemed frozen in place.

Then everyone except her, Stiles, Jordan—it _had_ been glamour though how no one had run into him was beyond her, and the sheriff have left. The sheriff stands there arms crossed. “What happened?”

Stiles, the lucky bastard, is the only one who can talk, sp he does. “...And Meredith did something to Lydia and Parrish and she can't talk and I'm pretty sure he's frozen.” Since Jordan does not dispute Stiles words Lydia assumes he's right. “Which is kind of about when you came.”

Lydia's just grateful that while Stiles mentioned Meredith's mysterious ' _them_ ' he didn't seem to actually understand what Meredith had been talking about. She, and perhaps Jordan, is the only one who knows that Meredith is the true Lydia Martin.

“Great.” The sheriff looks worried by the fact she can't speak and Jordan can't move. “How the hell are we going to fix this?”

Stiles starts pacing, clearly trying to figure it out.

Lydia has to resist the urge to go to Jordan, the Winter in her wanting to go and comfort him, but she just...she just can't, not after everything that happened.

“Hurt...” Jordan starts to flush from exertion and she worries that he might do something to himself. Something that she might not know how to fix. “Hurt me.”

The sheriff doesn't look at all happy about those words but before he can say anything Stiles whirls around, grabs one of the empty needles from Brunski's case and jabs it into Jordan's shoulder. “Burning hedgehog fucker!”

Stiles scrambles out of the way and Jordan tilts forward. Though he manages to catch himself before he hits the ground. Righting himself Jordan yanks the empty needle out of his shoulder. “Hell, you didn't have to _stab_ me.”

Stiles looks a little shamefaced at that, though the sheriff just looks resigned. “What about Lydia?” The worry in Stiles' voice for all that it's appreciated, is a bit too little too late to Lydia.

Jordan rolls his shoulder. “I'll make sure she's alright, but you two should figure out what to do with that needle, it _was_ evidence.”

Which somehow makes Stiles even more embarrassed. The sheriff sighs. “Come on Stiles.”

She's a little grateful that the two of them leave as Jordan steps up to her. When they're completely alone his hands cup her cheeks. “Besides the voice are you alright?”

Out of habit she starts to nod, then shakes her head; she needs to start being more truthful with herself. What happened with Meredith and Brunski makes her feel like she's been run over by a steamroller, and she would love some time alone to process everything. Though the chances of that actually happening are slim to none.

His expression turns unhappy and that makes two of them. “I'm going to try something alright? It might hurt and I'm going to need to draw a little blood, are you okay with that?”

Her nod is rapid and quick, while she appreciates that he's asking, she'd rather he get it done than waste the time asking.

Avidly she watches as he grabs the knife he dropped earlier and gently jabs the tip of his right pointer finger, barely grimacing as he does so. She holds out her own hand and he gratefully nods, he nicks her wrist not her hand.

“I am Erwann, a knight of the Winter court. Sworn to protect Lydia who is it's princess, while in the service of her mother, the queen. I prove my dedication to this cause by spilling blood in her name.” At his final words he sets his finger on top of her own wound.

Somehow she feels the exact moment his blood mingles with her own like a bucket of ice water being dunked over her head. Though as the sensation seeps into her it doesn't feel uncomfortable at all, in fact it feels wonderfully refreshing.

Inside her it feels like parts she didn’t even know she had open up as that icy chill fills her completely. Something in her mind groans and contracts, shattering a few moments later and she finds herself sighing in relief. “That's worlds better.” Oh she loves that she can speak again. Earlier she'd asked him about giving her a hug, this time she doesn't bother with asking. He smells more strongly of winter than their last hug, but like Peter's smell of old books, it's a scent she finds comforting.

He only hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arms around her. Squeezing her tightly for a minute. “You are very welcome. Would you like me to take you home?” His voice is low and comforting.

She finds herself arching an eyebrow. “Shouldn't you be taking me to the station to file a report?” Her words fill her with déjà vu, and when she places why she finds herself giggling.

From the looks of it Jordan catches on faster than she did, if his grin is anything to go by. “If you insist.”

Lydia most definitely does. Now that the danger has passed—relatively speaking—she wants to know _why_ Meredith did it, and most definitely how to stop the deadpool. For herself and Jordan, and Malia, if nothing else.

*

Stiles is still at the station, waiting for her if his pacing is anything to go by, when she and Jordan arrive. When he sees them walk through the front door he heads over. Jordan spares her a glance, “I'm going to start on the paperwork and you can head back when you two are done talking alright?”

She gives a nod and watches him walk off, part of her wishing he would stay. Stiles actually looks a little uncomfortable as he stops in front of her. “Hey, you okay?”

Unlike with herself and Jordan, she doesn't feel bad about skirting the question with Stiles. “I'll be alright.” In a year or two perhaps, if nothing else happens—and knowing Beacon Hills that's about as likely as a tornado touching down here.

He looks relieved though. “Awesome, I think. Uh, I called Scott and the others, told them what happened. Turns out they managed to find the rest of Satomi's pack, they're holed up at Deaton's until they can find a more defensible place.”

It’s a little galling for Lydia to realize that while she and Stiles were being tied up and nearly killed, Scott and the others were saving the lives of complete strangers. She knows that that’s highly irrational, none of the pack knew they were going to Eichen so how could they have known they were in trouble?

 _Because that’s how a real pack functions_ , the flash of insight from the splinters of Peter still inside her doesn’t surprise her. It does make a part of her want to know how it felt to feel the rest of your pack die around you, however faint. It brings up the question, if Scott, their supposed Alpha, didn't realize they were in trouble, did that mean they weren't really a pack? A good question, but one she should contemplate at a later date, not dying is far more important than a bond, or lack there of, between herself and Scott.

Regardless she doesn't really want to spend more time with Stiles, she really does love him as a friend, but these past few weeks everyone her age just seems to rub her in all the wrong ways. “That's great Stiles, I need to go fill out my paperwork though, talk to you later?”

Stiles blinks at her, she can't tell if it's in surprise at her briskness or at wanting to do something as boring as police paperwork, but he doesn't press. “Fine, see you tomorrow at school.” He does walk her to the door between the entryway and the bullpen, but instead of following her in he chats with the deputy about making sure his dad takes care of himself.

The bullpen's mostly empty, she can see the sheriff in his office, but other than that Jordan's the only one there. Everyone else must be going through Eichen. Walking towards him she steals a chair from a nearby desk and moves it to be right next to his. She hesitates thought before sitting.

Jordan glances at her before returning his gaze to his computer. “You know you don't have to fill out the paperwork, I can do it for you if you really do want to go home.”

Violently Lydia shakes her head, she can't go home. Natalie will be there and Lydia can't stand to look upon the woman who thinks she's her daughter right now. “I want to stay here.” Raising her right hand she moves it to rest on his left forearm, the feel of his warm flesh beneath her own reassuring.

“Was...was Meredith, and Lorraine telling the truth? Is she the girl I was switched with at birth?”

He frowns and turns to face her completely. “What do you mean, about Lorraine?”

Oh, that's right, he hadn't been there for the tape. “Brunski played the tape he made of Lorraine’s murder”—and there'd definitely been something wrong with the man if even after that he'd still claimed to not be a serial killer—“On it she said, she _asked_ Brunski not to hurt me,” Lydia slides her hand down to rest on top of Jordan's. “She specifically called me Changeling. Then, she told him to be kind to her granddaughter, because he would be all that she had.”

She can feel Jordan tense, then he shocks her a little by turning his hand over and lacing his fingers through her own. “I don't know Lydia, did it feel true to you?”

Her heart stutters, and she nearly denies it. For all she knew Lorraine had been so wracked with guilt over what she had done to Meredith that she actually made Meredith her granddaughter to make the guilt worse, or more understandable.

Meredith's implied claim at having resided with the fae, rung too true, made Lorraine's words disturbingly plausible. “I don't want it to be,” she finally answers.

He narrows his eyes at her, and presses. “That's not an answer Lydia. Do you think Lorraine was telling the truth about Meredith being her biological granddaughter?”

Somehow Jordan's use of the word 'biological' drives everything home. “Yes,” it comes out a sob.

The arm of her chair presses into her almost painfully as Jordan pulls her into a hug, one arm wrapping around her back, while his other hand started rubbing at her neck. “Let it out Lydia, no one can see or hear us.”

Lydia's not ashamed to admit she clings, uncaring of ruining his uniform with her makeup or her tears she lets them come. She releases great gasping sobs as she cries for a human girl who didn't deserve anything that had happened to her and she cries for herself, for what the past year had made of her. She cries because she nearly died, she even cries because her best friend is dead and not here alive, comforting her too.

The tears dry up in the end. Sniffling she pulls away and gives Jordan a wobbly smile. “Thank you, Erwann.” She doesn't even care what sort of little debt she owes him for that 'thank you' she means it with her whole heart.

The smile he gives her in return is a small one, but it's real. “You're welcome, do you, uh, want to go to the bathroom to clean up a little?”

She nods, and letting go of each other completely they get up and he walks her to the bathroom. Inside she unflinchingly looks at herself. Her mascara and eyeliner are unsalvageable and make her look like a raccoon. The rest of her isn't so bad, but she looks like she just cried her heart out. With a little sigh she opens her purse and pulls out her little makeup remover kit.

When she's done she stares at herself again. She looks more tired without the makeup, and she has to fight that part of her that insists she put more on before walking out the bathroom door, but she overcomes.

Nearly running into Jordan, clearly waiting for her, right outside the door. He reaches out to steady her, but quickly lets go. “Come on, I'll take you home.”

She shakes her head. “No, I'm not leaving until Meredith tells us how to stop the deadpool.” He opens his mouth to probably protest and she shakes her head. “No, you should go, I can get the sheriff to take me home if need be.”

“Lydia...” He clearly doesn't like the situation.

Taking a deep breath she heads back down the short hallway and into the bullpen. He follows. “Jordan...Erwann.” This time he recoils a little at her use of his true name. “I'm not leaving, not when I have the chance to stop this right here and now. Go home, get some rest.” She reaches out and squeezes his hands. “The sheriff can keep me safe if anything happens. If I think it's getting too late I'll ask him to drive me home.” She, of course, won't think it's getting too late. 'Too late' at the moment means everyone she cares about is dead.

He looks unconvinced, but he extracts his hands and nods. “You _will_ send me a text when you leave.”

She nods, an easy promise to make considering she won't be leaving. Jordan stares at her for a moment longer, as if gauging her honesty before nodding. “I'll come by when school is over and bring you here if you want?”

“I'll be fine making my own way Jordan.” She gives an encouraging smile. “Now go! You look like you're about to keel over on the spot.”

Lips twitching he turns and leaves, while she goes over to the row of wooden chairs that serve as a waiting area.

After a few minutes she's regretting the fact that they took Jordan's cruiser back to the station, if they'd taken her car at least she could have done homework. Sure she has her phone but she's not Stiles, who’s more than willing to spend endless hours trolling the internet.

 _You should probably tell Peter what happened,_ an insidious part of her whispers, _and your mother_. _Not my mother_ , and isn't arguing with yourself a sign of insanity?

Regardless she's sure the sheriff already called her mom, though whether or not Natalie actually comes is up for debate. As for Peter...pulling out her phone she opens up a text, _got attacked, but discovered Benefactor_. It's disturbingly terse, but right now she can't go into too much detail. Ignoring the apprehension roiling in her stomach she hits send and starts counting.

She hits twenty seconds before her phone rings. “ _Explain_.” Peter's voice is deep, angry snarl.

There's comfort to be found in his anger though, because it's not directed at her. Slipping her heels off she tucks her feet under her legs. “After I decoded Lorraine’s list Stiles and I didn't know any of the names so we took it to the station. Jordan looked them up for us, they were all patients at Eichen and all supposedly suicides. Stiles and I went to Eichen to bribe Brunski to let us into the records room. We got in, but he came back and nearly killed Stiles and me.” Peter's snarl starts up again. “Jordan came in and shot him.” Lydia's 98% certain there's something wrong with her when seeing someone killed in front of her doesn't phase her. Peter's snarling abruptly ends.

“Brunski,” she will _not_ sob or choke up. “Brunski had a tape of him murdering Lorraine. He played it because he thought I might have some answers, she,”—Lydia nearly bites her tongue—“she said some things about me I didn't know anyone knew.” Anyone except her and Jordan.

“Lydia,” Peter's voice has turned smooth and calming. “I'm coming over there.”

“No!” The deputy who just came in gives her a strange look. “No,” she repeats in a more reasonable voice. “I'm at the station Peter.” A pointed reminder that they might be together, but nobody knows.

He sighs. “Then tell me what she said that rattled you Lydia. You don't deserve to be rattled.”

A smile briefly twitches at her lips, Peter could be such a sweet talker. Should she tell him? Did she trust him enough with letting him know she, and Jordan—did she dare out him like that?—by extension, weren't human and never had been?

The memory of her guilt and almost-love from earlier returns. A pointed realization that, yes, maybe she does trust Peter that much. “I will, I swear.” She hears her mom's voice talking to the deputy at the front desk. Lydia would call it disturbingly perfect timing if she wasn't so grateful. “My mom just came. I'll talk to you later.”

Before he has a chance to answer she hangs up and quickly tucks her phone away.

“Lydia are you alright?”

With Natalie rushing towards her Lydia grudgingly gets up and lets herself be pulled into a hug. A little surprised her mom came at all, let alone this late. “I'm fine mom, she...she didn't do anything to me.” _Except shatter my heart a little, you should be asking about_ her _not me, she's your_ real _daughter_. Even thinking it makes something inside her twang uncomfortably.

“You must have been so scared.” Her mom, _Natalie_ , _mom_ hugs her tighter. “Come on, lets get you home.” She releases Lydia from the hug, only to grab her arm and gently tug her towards the entrance. The sheriff's already told her to go home but she won't until she knows Meredith's talking.

“Mom.” How can she speak that if it's a lie? “I can't go, I...” she scrambles for a truth that is a lie. “I still need to talk with the sheriff.” She hopes her...mom thinks she means she still has to get her statement taken.

“Oh, well.” Her mom starts moving as if to sit. “Then we'll wait.”

Lydia shakes her head. “I don't know how long I'm going to have to wait mom, he's interviewing other people. Go back home, I'll get the sheriff or a deputy to drive me home when I'm done.”

The expression on her mom's face is an unusual one, one Lydia can't really put a name to. “Are you sure?”

“Yes mom.” She lets herself hug Natalie. “I'll be fine.” She will be, once the deadpool is done and over with. Lydia sits back down as her mom leaves, grateful she didn't question more or put up more of a fight.

Sleep starts creeping up on her, but she doesn't really feel it until ten minutes later. Unsteadily she gets up and goes over to Jordan's desk. He'd left his jacket there when they'd come in and had failed to take it when he'd left. Grabbing it she wraps it around herself, for a second just standing there and breathing in his scent, before heading back over to the slightly uncomfortable 'waiting room' chairs. Curling up as best she can she readjusts Jordan's coat and closes her eyes.

She knows the sheriff won't be happy to find her here whenever he finds her here, but she's not leaving until Meredith tells them how to stop the deadpool. With that final thought she drifts off into sleep.

—

“I guess I should be thanking you.”

Gun raised Jordan whirls around to see Peter only a few steps away.

He would have thought spending so much time around werewolves recently would have made him more attuned to them. Peter's sudden appearance, in his _kitchen_ no less, has blown that hope right out of the water. Slowly, because Jordan finds himself a little unnerved by Peter—for more reasons than the debt he owes him—Jordan puts his gun down and forces himself to relax. “Do you even know _how_ to knock?”

Peter smiles. “I only knock when I'm not wanted, it's more fun that way.”

Amusement bubbles up inside him and Jordan finds himself letting loose a huff of laughter. “What makes you think you're wanted here?”

Before Jordan realizes it Peter's standing right in front of him, a strange look in his eyes. “Because of what you did for Lydia.” Unexpectedly Jordan feels a too warm hand brush under his chin, claws prickling.

A shiver races through him before he can stop it. “It's what I'm supposed to do.” It comes out mostly normal. He'll protect her at the cost of his own last life if he has to, her death means the end of Winter. It's not like he'll be stuck being dead.

Peter hums nonchalantly, but Jordan doesn't fail to notice the sharpening interest in Peter's gaze at that shiver. Almost affectionately one of Peter's claws taps Jordan's chin. “Does Lydia know that I wonder.”

Jordan has the sinking suspicion Peter's not just talking about the protecting Lydia part. He wonders if he should be more concerned that he's losing all control of this conversation than he is. “She knows I'm here to protect her.” So far he feels he's done a better job of it than those people who call her part of their 'pack'. An alien idea for Jordan-Erwann, he understands courts, factions, retinues, the chains of promises and obligations most strive to escape. If he had to he would think pack was like family, yet looser. Looser than even the ties of a lord or lady to their retinue if what he's seen so far holds as the norm.

As if to pull his attention back to him Peter steps even closer, Jordan tries to step back, but it only manages to be half a step before he hits the counter. Peter steps even closer, effectively trapping Jordan and in response he feels his pulse begin to race. It's not the same sort of helplessness that affected him while Lydia was under Meredith's hold, but it's insidiously worse. He tenses, ready to act. True Lydia is with Peter, but that won’t stop him from defending himself.

Laughter ghosts across Jordan's throat. “What is it about you, Deputy Jordan Parrish.” The way Peter's voice wraps around that title and name makes his knees buckle, but Peter's there to catch him. “That seems to draws her and I like mayflies?”

There are _fangs_ on Jordan's throat and he can't answer because speech is beyond him at the moment. _Oh_ _st_ _ars_ , it's not enough and Jordan finds himself pushing against Peter, seeking more. This is not what he expected from the other man.

From the sound that escapes Peter it's an unexpected move, and Jordan feels pride flush through him. Only to be overcome with tingling pain as Peter bites down harder, a not so subtle reminder. Jordan lets his head fall back, exposing his throat completely. A pleased rumble leaves Peter and dances down Jordan's spine, and as if in reward clawed hands dance along the hem of his jeans.

Chills fill Jordan when those hands reach the button and zipper, making quick work of both. A moan tears its way out of his throat when they dive right in, stroking and teasing. _Fuck_. Then they wiggle under his boxer-briefs and Jordan's vision goes a little white around the edges as blunt fingers wrap around his cock.

Peter's hands turn rough, almost angry, and the orgasm that crashes over Jordan leaves him shaky.

Paradoxically Peter's movements turn...not gentle, but something like it, as he lowers Jordan to the floor, refastening his jeans before taking the floor across from him.

Unwilling to shake the lassitude that's taken over him Jordan watches with hooded eyes as Peter licks his hands clean. Warm pleasure echoes through Jordan at the show, though the realization it _is_ a show drives him to speak. “Why?”

The other man shrugs as he finishes his impromptu tongue bath. “Why not?”

“You and Lydia...”

Peter snorts. “One handjob's hardly going to change things between her and I think, just between you and me,” Peter's tone turns conspiratorial. “She'll be disappointed she missed out.”

Jordan hadn't thought he could get hard after what just happened, but his cock puts forth a good effort at the mental image of Lydia perched on the counter next to them, hazel eyes avidly taking in everything.

Nostrils flaring Peter laughs, then he shrugs again. “I wanted to test something.” Before Jordan can even wonder as to what Peter means by that, the other man's expression turns serious. “I do believe this makes us even, debt-wise. I nearly killed her, and you saved her.”

His brain feels foggy but he thinks that works out? Though Peter saying it is enough that the subtle tension in him eases, _equals_. It's more of a relief than it should be. “I accept the...the debt fulfilled.”

Peter cocks his head like Jordan's said something truly interesting. Jordan thinks he can actually see the wheels turning in Peter's head. “I accept the debt fulfilled?”

Hearing it repeated back, second nature to fae but not to others, shocks him as much as the orgasm did. The words are only a formality, acknowledging the debt as null is enough to break the tenuous tie, but one Jordan-Erwann finds comforting. “It's just a custom, like when people ask how you are and you reply with some variation of 'fine.'” He thinks that's a good enough comparison, his thoughts currently move like quicksand.

“Hmmmm.” Peter gets up. “I'd love to stay and chat, but I have other things I need to do tonight.” He takes the two steps back over to Jordan and crouches down. Jordan doesn't know if the hand that gets run through his hair is because of affection or just some strange perfunctory action. “You'll be alright on your own I think.” He rises. “I do hope though that we see each other again soon.”

The sounds of Peter's footsteps seem to echo long after he's gone. Eventually Jordan gets up the will to stand himself and somehow still feeling shaky he makes his way up to his room. Feeling too wrung out he forgoes a shower and quickly undresses, falling into bed.

Resigning himself to confusing dreams he closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: The deadpool ends, and things come to a head with Peter, Lydia, and Jordan.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks, the chapter you've all been –hopefully– waiting for!

Malia finds herself going to hospital, worry driving her to check on Stiles. They're not...together...dating? But he's still _pack_ , and you look after pack, especially when they're injured. Even _she_ knows that. With everyone else busy looking after Satomi's pack, which seems pointless let them look after each other **—** unless they all joined Scott's pack **—** it falls to her.

Scott's mom, who smiles and smells of the hospital and summer wind, lets her through, telling her what room Stiles is in.

When she finds the room Stiles in he he's struggling to get out of the bed, not looking, or smelling, all that happy. “Stiles?”

He stumbles, barely managing to catch himself on the bed's rail. “Ma–Malia. What are you doing here?”

She starts heading to him, her ears twitch when she hears the door close and click behind her, and reaching over hauls him up. “Are...you fine?” That's a question normal people ask right?

For a second she thinks Stiles didn't hear her, what with the way he's staring off into space, but then he shakes his head, “What? Oh, uh, I'm good. You know, just nearly got murdered by a psychotic orderly. Nothing earth shatteringly new.”

Well if he's going to be like that. She bares her teeth and growls softly, misbehaving arrogant... _male,_ she lets him go and storms to the door, intent on leaving.

The door doesn't open.

She tries again, but still it doesn't open; she snarls. Malia nearly tries punching the door out, she doesn't exactly want to be _trapped_ here. But she knows that would cause a lot of fuss from all sorts of people and she just doesn't want to bother with that.

Instead she throws herself on the bed, which smells disgusting, and shifts to the edge so she can look down at Stiles. She would rather deal with him than smell this bed, even if he is being stupid.

He's sitting on the floor, staring at the wall across from him. “Sorry Malia, I'm just frustrated. Lydia and I found the Benefactor, but the deadpool's still running. I just,” he sighs. “It feels like things used to be a lot easier.”

Malia thinks she gets that, and frowns a little. “Where is Lydia?”

Stiles runs his hands through his hair and tilts his head up, giving her a noseful of his ginger scent. “Last I saw her, she was a the station, trying to talk to Meredith.”

Now she really is frowning. “Meredith? But she tried to to help us.”

“Yeah, I don't really understand her either, though I wouldn't really call her of sound mind.”

Silence falls between them, unusual for Stiles but Malia will take it. Things feel unfinished, and it bites at her like fleas, she's not sure what to do to fix it. She finds the longer she remains human the more she wishes speaking came easier. It's not just trying to find the actual words to say that gnaws away at her, it's also the possibility of saying the wrong thing and having everyone laugh at her **—** internally if not externally.

Where she was once gregarious, always conversing with her fellow coyotes, she's now quite and tries to plan what she says over and over in her head. So much so that the strings of words start becoming meaningless to her.

She can't leave herself and Stiles like this, and not just for them, but for the whole pack as well. She chews on the inside of her lip for a few seconds before forcing herself to just speak. “Look Stiles, I...” she bites back the urge to howl, though at least that might get someone who can open the door. “I still really...care...about you, you're _pack_.” Coyotes didn't form packs the same way wolves did, but the idea isn't foreign to her. Humans are strange about that sort of thing. Once again she finds herself wishing for four paws instead of arms and legs, only being able to get pregnant in the early spring instead of this horribly monthly cycle. The taste of young rabbits rooted out from their warren or young fawns, no thoughts about things like the 'future' or 'education' just the woods and your body.

Stiles sighs again, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I...” another sigh. “I'm just going to have to accept that aren't I?” He jerks his head back to hit one of the bed's metal legs.

“Yes?” Though she thinks that might have been one of those questions she isn't really supposed to answer.

The click of the door sounds far too loud in the ensuing silence. Malia doesn't question it and just bolts.

—

Blearily Lydia opens her eyes, surprised to see it’s morning, and that she’d awoken without disturbance. That last part’s quickly rectified though as the sheriff steps out of his office as she’s rubbing sleep from her eyes. He strides over, not angry but definitely resigned. “Lydia, I’m fairly certain I told you to go home last night.”

Lydia’s not sure she accurately conveys her 'bitch please’ face considering it’s interrupted by a yawn, but she’s not about to try again. “And I told you sheriff I’m not leaving until Meredith tells us how to stop the deadpool.” She won’t, she needs to know once and for all that she’s safe, that Jordan’s safe, that Malia’s safe.

He sighs, but before he can say anything Jordan and a female deputy are approaching them. The other deputy speaks first. “CSI didn’t find any papers, but they’re just starting on the hard drive so we’ll have to wait and see if it turns anything up. They seem to be enjoying themselves, they had to haul one of the ancient computers out of storage to actually access it.”

Jordan steps up to her as the sheriff and the deputy continue to talk. “You were supposed to go home last night.” His eyes narrow. “You most definitely should be in school.”

She clutches his jacket closer to her, which is about the same time he notices she’s wearing it if his blush is anything to go by. “Not until Meredith talks,” she reaffirms. “The Sheriff sent off an excuse to the school.” Or he will if she has anything to say about it, and won't it be a little amazing to have an excused absence?

His sigh is fond and exasperated, and she feels more pleased by it than she probably should. “Considering it hasn’t happened yet you might be in here for a while.”

That's not good enough for Lydia, the sooner this is dealt with the better. “Sheriff, I have a solution to our problem,” Lydia shifts. “But you might not like it.”

The sheriff heaves a weary sigh. “At the moment Lydia I’m willing to entertain dancing bears if it gets us the answers we need.”

—

Peter sidles up to Lydia, feeling smug. It’s always good fun when she has to rely on him for answers, even still with the change in their relationship since the last time. Crossing his arms he stares at the girl sitting in the interrogation room. “Her? _She’s_ the Benefactor? She doesn’t even look like she could organize a grocery list.” As if to prove his words the girls eye's start darting around, as if looking for something.

“ _She's_ a banshee, I'd thought you'd know better than to underestimate us.” Acerbic Lydia is always fun. Now the girl's head has started moving too, as if doing that will let her see more than she can with her eyes.

He arches an eyebrow. Footsteps start down the hall and he already can tell it's Parrish and the sheriff. “Are you sure about that? I'd never underestimate you Lydia.” He can't, not when he knows exactly how much power she has.

In the room the girl bolts upright, her chair clattering to the floor. Her voice comes, faint but clear through the glass. “Who is he Lydia? Why are you thinking about someone like he's right there when you're all alone?! There are others coming but you're alone!”

Deciding he's had enough of paying attention to the girl he focuses completely on Lydia. “Her own words speak differently, it seems I'm your very own Outis.”

Apparently Parrish is close enough to hear him because he joins in Lydia's sniggering. Though as they finally step up beside them the sheriff looks confused. “What's so funny?”

Smothering her laughter Lydia gives his chest a comforting pat. “Don't worry Peter you're not nobody to us.” Jordan flushes a little, and Peter feels smug.

Enough so that he smiles. “It's the name Odysseus gave the cyclops, it means 'nobody'. Sheriff it's good to see you.”

“Peter Hale, right? Stiles told me about you.” His tone's wary but his scent is resigned.

“I'd hope it's all good, but I know Stiles too well. Regardless sheriff I can help.”

His attention's distracted a little by Jordan and Lydia, they chat, or maybe it's Jordan chiding Lydia, briefly about her not going home the other night. Peter...doesn't know how to feel about that. Lydia seems unbowed though, as she should. “Just let me talk to Meredith again before Peter does. Maybe she'll talk to me now.”

Jordan gives a rueful smile. “Sheriff?”

The man sighs. “Go on, doesn't hurt to try.”

They go in and Peter watches avidly through the two-way mirror. “Are there cameras in there?” It never hurts to ask.

“Not in that room.”

Intriguing, but he'll wonder on that later. “You know sheriff I'm not going to do this for free.”

He stiffens. “What are you saying?”

Even if the man can't see it Peter finds himself smiling, most likely one of those melodramatic villain smiles. “I'm saying that in return for this you need to do something for me.” His senses tell him there's no one around to overhear or suddenly approach. He's sure the sheriff would rather not be caught doing something so corrupt as quid pro quo.

“What, exactly, is it that you're wanting?” At least the man isn't balking.

Peter waits a little while before answering, even though he knows exactly what he's going to ask for. “There's an APB out on me from after I...discharged myself from the hospital.” Granted it's been a year, but that sort of loose end could end badly for him. “I'd like you to retract it.”

Once again he smells resigned when he finally answers. “Fine. What are you going to do to her anyways?”

Peter takes a deep centering breath, he needs focus otherwise he’s liable to get ‘lost’ as it were. “I'm going to tap into her mind, for lack of a better term, it’s a rare skill and very...finicky.”

Which earns him an arched eyebrow. “Does it work?”

“Of course it works.” Peter’s not one to do pointless things. “It got you your son back a few months ago. If she knows how to stop the deadpool I’ll find it. Though a word of advice Sheriff, don’t...do anything sudden. If my hand slips I could do permanent damage.” Then again if she is the Benefactor he’s tempted to have his hand...'slip' anyways.

The Sheriff crosses his arms. “Is that a threat Hale?”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes Peter steps towards the door, taking one last look through the mirror at Jordan and Lydia, he can't hear what either are saying to the girl, though from their body language he can see they're giving up on trying to talk to her. “Please, it wouldn’t be worth my time.” Without waiting for the sheriff's reply he walks to the door of the interrogation room and knocks.

It shouldn't surprise him that it's Jordan who opens the door, but it does. Jordan doesn't say anything as he opens the door wide and gestures for Peter to come in. The girl stares at him as he walks in, like she can’t process what she’s seeing. She tries to shrink back, but the metal seats don't really allow for it. “H...h...how? Why can't I read you? I can read everyone, they made sure of that.”

As casually as he can he strolls over to the table, he doesn't look at the girl though, he looks at Lydia. “You said she was a banshee sweetheart, not psychic.” It makes too much sense for it not to be true.

Though it looks like he can't be read for some reason. Intriguing.

Everyone, except for Meredith, starts a little at his words. He stares at her, though she does not seem to want to meet his gaze. “I'm right aren't I?” He pulls out the chair across for her and sits. “All this time everyone thought you were a banshee, but you're not.” Tilting his head he narrows his eyes. “But you can't read my mind? Curious.”

Crossing his arms, he leans back in his chair. “Meaning you have no idea what I'm really going to do. Why don't you answer Lydia's and the nice deputy's questions, or we'll have to do things my way.” He gives her a toothy smile.

Meredith shakes her head. “No. They all need to be punished, to know it's unacceptable.”

Turning his head a little he throws a glance at Lydia. Not asking for permission as such, but more like 'you can't blame me for what happens next'. Either Lydia somehow gets that message or she thinks he's being overly dramatic, and rolls her eyes.

In a flash he's upright, chair clattering against the wall and barely a blink later he's moved the table from between them as well, though apparently he could have aimed that one better **—** one of Jordan's arms flies out to yank Lydia out of the table's path. He can't focus on any of that, claws coming out he pulls Meredith towards him **—** he absently hears the sheriff cock his gun and Lydia's 'no!' **—** forcing her head forward and driving his claws into her spine.

The connection takes longer to bridge than it should, he chalks it up to her mental state and abilities, but then he's 'in'.

Meredith's mind is a fog. Hazy and chaotic, a veritable swamp, Peter finds himself certain if he's not careful he might start losing his own hard won sanity. There are no paths at all, not that he expected any, so it looks like he'll be doing most of this blind as it were.

He doesn't have to wander around aimlessly however. He knows exactly what he's looking for.

In a way minds were a bit like word association games if you were a bat. You said something and waited to see what echoed back to you. If you were lucky you'd find the right trail on the first go. Peter's gotten good at this, so he knows exactly what to say: _bearer bonds_. Money's too vague, but 'bearer bonds' would hopefully be something only associated with the specifics of the deadpool.

It takes a while for the echoes to come back, and they're a bit more distorted than one would find in a 'normal' mind, but they're good enough for him. Especially when he gets all sorts of wonderful options to choose from: _the plan make them_ pay _, untraceable,_ and oh so very quiet: _the list_.

He latches on without a second though and hurls himself towards that train of thoughts and memories. He can feel her trying to stop him, but it seems she's just as unable to touch him in her own mind as out in reality. Which means he can focus completely on finding out what he wants.

Time doesn't have much meaning in the mental plane, so he reaches what passes as a nexus in Meredith's mind instantaneously and some time later. He waits there briefly before talking what stock he can of the 'area'. Surprised when he sees the sort of thought threads he associates with a 'sane' mind.

Mental hands ineffectually pull at him as he starts plucking threads. _Money safe Cayman's account_ , that would make getting his money back a little more difficult. He lets a brief burst of anger 'escape' at that, throwing Meredith's mental presence back. He plucks a thread attached to the _Cayman_ thought and gets a name, number, and passcode. _Fantastic,_ exactly what he wanted.

Now to make Lydia happy...

He flickers around the node for a few seconds, for forever, before settling on another thread to pluck. He chooses one on the 'opposite' side of the _Cayman_ one and tugs. _Push myself, sift through all the minds, can't hurt humans they didn't know._ Peter stills the thread, useless.

He gets through three more before finding what he needs: _Computers, old computers, Lorraine said they started her, now she is dead and_ I _can use them, use them to make everyone else pay!_ The right track but no indication of _where_ these computers are.

So, focus a little more on Lorraine perhaps. A memory catches him up:

_Warm dry hands lead her down. “My husband didn't understand why I asked him to move these here to Eichen.” A flicker of a smile. “Maybe you will.”_

_In the basement there's barely any illumination, but she can still see in a tucked away corner strange towers that hum._

_“They're from my old job.” The hum gets louder as they get closer, until they seem to overwhelm everything else._

Peter wrenches himself out of the memory, and Walker's mind with a grunt. Walker scrambles away from him, curling into a corner and crying. Not that Peter cares. “I know where the computers are.”

—

Danny's half-bored out of his mind in chemistry. Sure no one’d _liked_ Harris but at least his stuff had been vaguely challenging Mrs. Martin just sticks to the textbook, when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He glances up to the front of the class to make sure Mrs. Martin's still writing on the whiteboard before pulling his phone out and opening the text message he'd just gotten from Lydia: _Call me, ASAP!_

Putting his phone away he looked back up to see Mrs. Martin finish her sentence and start turning around, so he throws his hand up. “Yes Danny?”

“I need to use the restroom.” Lucky him the pass is sitting on her desk, and not already out.

“Alright.” She gestures at the hall pass. “I'm timing you.” That's a lot of distrust for her to have for one of Lydia's friends, but he's not going to push that timing _him_ but not Carol who last used the pass **—** and spent nearly half an hour in the bathroom smoking **—** is totally unfair.

He just gets up, and snags the pass on his way out, once in the hall he jogs to the nearest bathroom, he's a little worried about Lydia, especially since she didn't come to school again today **—** she kept this up and _he's_ going to be valedictorian. _What have you gotten yourself into Lydia?_

In the bathroom he pulls his phone out and hits the eight on his speed dial **—** Lydia used to be three but their drifting apart shifted her way down the list. “Hello?” Lydia sounds different than she did last time they talked, though he can’t exactly pinpoint what.

“Hey, you told me to call?” He finds the fingers of his free hand start tapping against one of the faucets.

Over the line he hears the voices of a few different men, where the hell is she? “Yes. So, we found out where the deadpool is, but we need your help to turn it off. We hope.”

“‘We hope’? That’s not exactly comforting.” He’s more than happy to help, but that didn’t mean he’s going to throw his life away.

She sighs. “Look all we found out is that it’s being kept on an old bank of computers in the basement of Eichen House. If you say ‘yes’ the the sheriff’s going to come pick you up and escort you there, so you don’t get stopped and questioned.”

That’ll be an interesting change from the usual. “What exactly do you want me to do?” That feels like a good thing to clarify now.

“Find a way to turn them off, stop the deadpool, whichever is fastest.”

She's going with the KISS method then, Danny can appreciate that. “If I do this will I be in any danger?”

She doesn't answer for a little while. “I don't...think so?” She sounds unsure. “As far as we know there isn't anyone there protecting the computers, but if there is the Sheriff can help.” Though Danny thinks he might be better off on his own. He's never killed anyone but he's sure he could do it in self-defense.

“I think I can live with that, so sure. I'll help.” Do good and good comes back, right?

A shuddering sigh escapes Lydia. “Thank you.” He's never heard her sound so relieved in all the time they've known each other. “The sheriff will be there soon alright?”

“Yeah, okay. I'll, uh, talk to you later?”

“I hope so.” She hangs up.

He hangs up as well, and heads back to class, trying to ignore the knot of tension starting up in his belly.

Fifteen minutes later, an office aide comes into the class, handing a note to Mrs. Martin. She opens in and blinks and even though Danny knows what's on it he still does his best to act surprise when Mrs. Martin calls his name. “Danny, seems you're wanted in the principal's office.”

Danny packs all his stuff away and follows the aide back to the principal's office where the sheriff was waiting. “Come on,” the sheriff tells him. “I already explained everything to the principal and you've got an excuse for the next few classes.”

Which is kind of cool. “Thanks.” Though he hopes it wouldn't take _that_ long.

When they're in the cruiser the sheriff sadly doesn't turn on the siren, but this time Danny isn't in the back.

The ride to Eichen is done in tense silence and when they finally pull into a parking spot the sheriff turns to him. “Now let me do all the talking, understand?”

Even though he isn't going to say it Danny mentally thinks _'duh'_. “Wasn't planning on talking,” he replies.

As they go up the steps the sheriff pulls himself a little straighter, and Danny wonders how worried his is. At the front desk the sheriff flashes his badge. “I'm going to need access to your basement.”

“Of, of course sheriff,” the orderly says, his expression looking a little nervous. He grabs a ring of keys. “If you'd follow me.”

When the orderly opens the basement door for them the sheriff grabs the other man's arm for a moment. “Once we go in you're going to leave and make sure no one else comes down understand?”

The orderly swallows, but nods.

Danny and the sheriff go in. “Where exactly are the computers?” Hopefully the sheriff knows, this basement isn't exactly the most orderly of places.

“Ah, one of the corners, they're apparently tucked out of the way.” That makes sense, The sheriff starts walking and Danny follows.

Danny thinks it takes them about ten minutes to find them, and when they do Danny lets himself gape and stare a little. There are two computers that he can see, humming away. They're basically relics from the stone age and he can't believe they're actually _working_ ; but disregarding all that Danny kind of loves them. The fact they're so old tells him all he needs to know about why he couldn't hack them.

“What do you need?” The sheriff's question makes him jump a little.

Danny doesn't answer just yet, instead stepping up to the computers and looking them over. “It looks like there's a keyhole, it would probably be too much to hope that you might have the key?” It's most likely a shot in the dark, but leave no stone unturned.

The sheriff gives a dry laugh for a second, “I wish son. But no.”

He'd thought so. Despite the fact it would be a shame to destroy them, what would be the best way to do it? To be safe he probably should do both, in case the second is a backup.

“Then we're going to have to exploit the one weakness all computer systems have.” Shrugging off his jacket he starts wrapping it around his elbow; sure he could just _melt_ the glass, if he didn't mind the sheriff knowing, or wasting more time than they really had.

“What's that?”

Pulling his arm back a little, Danny rams his covered elbow into the glass. “People.”

As he's clearing away enough of the glass that he can reach through the sheriff gives a little sigh and holds out a baton. “You could have asked.”

Danny feels his ears pinken as he reaches out with both hands, grabs the tape, and **—** adding a little heat to his hands **—** just tears it in two. The ragged ends start _fwip-fwip, fwip-fwip_ -ing against the sides as the spokes keep turning. Now for the second one... “I'll, uh, take that baton if you're still offering it.”

The sheriff hands it over without question and Danny quickly repeats the process. As he's handing the baton back though he notices what looks like a computer only a little less ancient than the ones he just destroyed. Hoping that this isn't some third, much harder to destroy, backup he steps around the other two and blinks when he sees that someone jury-rigged what might have been a first gen Macintosh up to yet another monolith computer.

“Something we should be worried about?”

“I'm not sure.” He answers slowly as he stepped up to it. The Macintosh already has something open on it's tiny screen; the deadpool interface from the looks of it, though probably the master end. Indeed when he's finally close enough he sees quite a bit more green text than what he remembered from the user end.

Encouragingly the first few lines basically read 'cannot access kill list', though that would only stop people who didn't already have the list. Gnawing on his lip for a moment he sets his fingers on the keyboard and begins to type. Not giving himself time to second guess he hits the enter key.

“What'd you do?” The sheriff asks.

Danny pulls out his phone, and blinks in surprise that he still has service. “Hopefully stopped any current assassins.” He shoots of a text to Lydia, letting her know what he did and that he needed confirmation that it happened. “Now we wait.” Part of him wants to leave **—** this place is seriously creepy. But he'd rather not have to leave and come back because they somehow missed something.

Luckily it only takes a few minutes before Lydia responds. After reading it he finds he's grinning almost too widely. “Yes! I did it! Fuck yeah!”

Out of the corner of his eye Danny sees the sheriff shudder a little, hopefully in relief, before managing a small smile of his own. “Good job son. Now we should get you back to school.”

He looks at the sheriff aghast. “I saved everyone's lives and you're making me go back to school?” Harsh man, harsh.

“Yes,” the sheriff says flatly.

—

Soon after the sheriff leaves Lydia goes over to Walker and gently helps her up, escorting her to the door. While worry lingers in Lydia's scent, it's nearly overwhelmed with relief that the deadpool is hopefully over. Peter's relieved too.

He takes a step forward to follow them, but Jordan puts an arm up to hold him back. Which Peter easily pushes aside. He goes into the hall and watches Lydia. Jordan pulls some of his attention away though when he grabs Peter's arm. “You and I need to talk.” He'd wondered when Jordan's spine was going to return **—** not that Jordan lets Peter walk all over him.

He doesn't answer right away, instead watching Lydia and the Walker girl go over to the row of chairs that serve as a waiting area and make themselves comfortable. Walker probably won't attempt anything, but Peter would rather be safer than sorrier when it comes to Lydia. He only turns his full attention back to Jordan when he is sure she's safe enough. “Alright.”

Jordan, smelling of nerves and resolve, leads him down towards what's probably the drunk tank. Though if Jordan thinks being next to a cage is going to make him nervous he had another think coming. “About last night...”

Peter can't help his arched eyebrow. “What, do you regret it?” Then again, if Jordan asked _him_ that question Peter has no idea how he would answer.

Jordan's...an uncertain path. Almost, but not quite, a mistake. Peter knows he's not infallible but, outside of biting Scott his record's never been the worst. Even then he's never really regretted any of the decisions he's made **—** Paige perhaps being the only exception to that rule. He doesn't know if the world's trying to teach him a lesson of some sort, or if it's just laughing at him: putting Lydia **—** the only person to truly test his self control **—** in his path.. Then having her find someone who _also_ pushes the boundaries of his self control, if last night was anything to go by. Yes, the world is busting a gut over his current predicament.

The other man's blush is almost prettier than Lydia's. “I, don't know.” _T_ _hat's_ unexpected. Even though to another wolf it would have been highly rude, Peter tries to unobtrusively lean in a little closer to smell him better. Under the nerves and resolve **—** in fact it's so close to Jordan's base scent that Peter nearly misses it **—** Peter catches a whiff of what most would consider attraction but Peter well know was interest. “I want to know why you did it.” The icy scent that is Jordan's resolve overwhelms everything so much that for a second Peter thinks he somehow stepped into a cold winter's day.

Lie his ass off or tell the truth? As a general principle Peter's loathed to tell the truth to any sort of do-gooder **—** see Exhibit A: Scott McCall **—** Jordan's, not exactly that. A part of him starts to wish they'd never met at all. “I told you, I wanted to test something.”

“Test what?” _Of course_ , Jordan's not going to leave well enough alone. Just his luck.

Again Peter faces the branches of truth or lie. _Lydia would want you to tell the truth because she wants you both._  What did _he_ want? Lydia made him nearly content, gives him a challenge and pushes him in ways he hadn't been pushed in a long time **—** or it feels that way. Jordan? He's a wildcard, an unknown factor in the little equation of Lydia and him and, and Peter doesn't know what to make of it.

He's always preferred men who were more submissive, and Jordan's not exactly that, outside of possibly sex **. T** he way he had just _let it happen_ last night makes Peter feel a little wild and more than willing to press his luck again and piques the wolf's interest. Which was the true shock of last night.

Some of the truth then. “A fancy. Lydia can be very insistent with her wants, and I find myself...marginally interested in a proposition of hers. So a test of possibility.” An answer he hopes satisfies.

“Why does Lydia mean so much to you?”

Absent Moon. Peter nearly turns and runs, runs as far and fast as he can. To admit to someone what Lydia means to him? Werewolves don't have 'true mates' but she's _pack._  That without her he might very well be the ravening monster Scott paints him as still. It even makes his wolf nervous. He met this man only two days ago and he wants Peter to bare his soul to him? _No_. Maybe he should be grateful that Jordan didn't ask about what Lydia's proposition was. Peter didn't think she would appreciate him spilling her secret, as it were, like that.

Peter curls his lip in a snarl. “I don't think you've earned that answer from me.” Peter has to bite his tongue before a 'yet' can escape.

For a few agonizing heartbeats Peter fears Jordan will press, but then his shoulders slump a little. “Fair enough. Then maybe you can answer another question for me. I know some about werewolves, but not a lot about their relationships and, I want to better understand pack.”

While that's rocky ground for Peter, he's much more willing to talk about that than his and Lydia's relationship. Even though it's not a question Peter isn't going to quibble about the change in subject. He takes a deep breath. He can do this. It would just being like trying to teach Scott, if Scott had bothered _listening_ those first few days. “To a werewolf, at least a born one, pack is everything.” A smile twitches at his lips. “The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

Jordan narrows his eyes. “That's from a book.”

Peter doesn't bother hiding his burst of laughter. “True, but the sentiment is the same. When you're born into a pack they're your family and friends, the ones who will stand with you against everyone else **—** even if they don't like you at the moment.” He and Derek went through enough of that over the years.

“If you lose them...” He tries for a nonchalant shrug. “It can very well drive you mad.” It's a bit more than he wanted to say, but he hopes just continuing on will distract Jordan from that. “I do believe it's different for bitten werewolves, but I wouldn't be able to tell you more than that. I would tell you to ask Scott about it,” he rolls his eyes. “But I believe he still has some sort of false hope that there's a cure. The only one of Derek's Beta's that's still alive is off gallivanting across the French countryside.”

Jordan doesn't respond right away, but eventually he nods. “It's a good enough answer for me. I appreciate you telling me.”

“Hardly a bother,” it's even only half a lie. “Now if you'll excuse me.” Peter glances over to see Lydia watching as people from Eichen take Walker away. “Lydia and I need to have a little chat.” He thinks maybe there's something in Jordan worth pursuing. Or perhaps it's just their conversation about pack driving him to come to different conclusions.

Either way, it's something to look into.

—

Lydia happily lets Meredith curl up beside her, though it must be awkward for Meredith with the handcuffs, resting her head in Lydia’s lap. Almost without thinking Lydia starts to run a hand through her hair. In fact it feels like second nature, a thing that happens all the time between fae and their Changlings.

She finds herself struggling with the need to say something, but not knowing _what_ to say. Being at a loss for words is a new and uncomfortable sensation for Lydia. It’s not like she _knows_ anything about Meredith: her likes, dislikes, hopes, what she wanted to do **—** besides paying people to kill supernatural creatures as a strange form of revenge.

There is one thing they do share, roundaboutly. “What was it like? Living there?” If her words don't get her point across she's sure her mind does.

“Warm.” Meredith turns her head a little to meet Lydia's eyes. “It...it was the Summer Court.” Strange, Lydia wonders if that's typical or if it was another way for her kidnappers to throw the scent off them. “There were always flowers, and it smelled like honey and fruit. Not everyone was kind to me but,” Meredith shrugs. “They weren't cruel to me either. And Iestyn looked after me.”

“Iestyn?”

“He...he is, was, _is_ a ceffyl dŵr.” Meredith breaks their gaze. “He taught me how to tell good food from bad, he brought me clothes, he used to joke that he could use my diapers to kill travelers.” A small smile creeps across her mouth, just as quickly it vanishes and Meredith tries to curl up into herself more. “I think...I think I killed him.”

 _Meredith found Eichen covered in blood_. Meredith stiffens. Lydia's hand moved from Meredith's hair and down to her hands, taking both as best she could and squeezing them.

Lydia's phone buzzes and she jumps a little before pulling it out of her pocket and checking it, a text from Danny. Her shoulders slump as she finishes reading it, what a relief. As she relaxes though Meredith tenses. Lydia ignores it for a moment in favor of texting Scott, hoping he could confirm Danny's claim.

Only a few seconds after she sends the text Scott answers, and even though things are tense between them she's still relieved that he answers and that the deadpool was well and truly done for. She shoots off a final text to Danny letting him know, so he and the sheriff don't have to stay at Eichen any longer.

Now that the pressure of the deadpool is gone Lydia feels like she can actually breathe again, breathe enough that she can _think_. Reaching out she threads her fingers through Meredith’s hair again. “Meredith, I’m...I’m sorry, for what I did to you.”

Meredith shivers a little. “It, it wasn’t that bad. Not like Lorraine.”

Lydia shakes her head, even though Meredith can’t really see it. “That...that doesn’t change anything Meredith, I shouldn’t have done it. I...I wouldn’t have if I knew what I was doing.” Now that this is over she’s going to sit down with Jordan and _insist_ on lessons, she needs to have control.

“Control isn’t easy.” The fact that Meredith can read her mind is going to take some getting used to. “Though that might be from growing up here, and not with your people. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing there.”

That isn’t as comforting as Meredith probably means it.

“Not trying to comfort. Your people might miss you.” She shifts to sit upright.

 _The missing Winter princess._ “I’ve never even met them.” Maybe now she can.

Meredith looks Lydia in the eye. “I've never really meet anyone from the Winter Court before. Only seen them at the solstices. I didn't think you'd feel so...warm.”

“Thank you, I think.” On impulse Lydia reaches out. “I'm going to hug you.” Just _doing_ it to someone like Meredith feels wrong. Meredith doesn't resist as Lydia completes her embrace. “I'm sorry,” she says again as she squeezes a little.

“I...forgive you. You didn't mean it, not really. You just wanted to save yourself.”

Lydia shake her head. “That's no excuse for my actions. If I could I'd give you back to your parents.” She can't believe that would ever go well.

Meredith shakes her head. “It doesn't work like that Lydia.” She starts, that's the first time she thinks Meredith's used her name. “They don't know, it wouldn't be fair to them.” Meredith smiles. “Eichen isn't so bad once you get used to it. The minds there are soft, they don't hurt me on accident, or purpose.”

“You shouldn't have to go back there, it's not fair to _you_. Would it be possible to...take you back to Summer?” Though she would have no idea how that would work, maybe she could ask Jordan about it?

Another head shake. “Please don't. I, I don't think I'm welcome there anymore.”

There's a brief commotion at the front and Lydia turns to see two orderlies, clearly from Eichen, talking to the officer at the front desk. “Looks like your time's up.”

She gets a smile in response and Meredith reaches out to cup her cheek, “you speaking to me is...wonderful, you understand.”

Lydia manages a watery smile in response. She stands and helps Meredith do the same. The two orderlies approach, one of them smiles. “Hello Meredith, time go come back.” It doesn't take Lydia long to realize Peter is standing next to her.

Meredith gives a shy duck of her head. “Alright, George.”

She watches as they lead Meredith away before paying attention to Peter. “What?” If they were in private she wouldn't be so short with him, then again if they were in private she's pretty sure they would be embracing.

“Nothing.” Peter's practiced nonchalant tone tells her otherwise. “Just wondering if you'll ever ask that deputy of yours out for coffee,” false sarcasm laces his voice, to her it does. She almost wants to ask one of the random deputies their perception of this conversation. Peter clearly wants to talk, just the three of them, though to what end is still unknown. That doesn't stop her heart from picking up a little, because this is _fun,_ this sort of sniping subterfuge adding a new element into their relationship.

Crossing her arms and giving a haughty sniff, she narrows her eyes in mock disgust. “Please, like my lovelife is any of your business. Though I wouldn't have thought you all would gossip more than old grannies.” Try as she might she can't suppress her twitch of a smile.

Peter's smile sends a different sort of excited shiver through her. “Oh, we don't gossip Lydia.” He leans down. “I just find myself... _invested_ in you.” He leans even closer still, his breath just barely touching her ear. “Cardamom and Green over on Alder?”

He pulls back and arches an eyebrow, as if asking her if she knows of it. She nods. While she prefers Beacon Brewers, Cardamom and Green is just as nice and it won't be flooded with her peers when school gets out. “You should think about it,” Peter raises his voice to a little above normal conversation level. “You could use a new toy in your life.”

Lydia finds herself sputtering angrily, probably Peter's intention, as he turns, tucks his hands into his pockets and nonchalantly begins to whistle as he leaves the department. That annoyed anger might be worth it though, just for the way the sheriff nervously waits for her to calm down before approaching. “Was Hale bothering you?”

She laughs. “No more than usual sheriff, and I know how to handle him.” She nearly laughs again at her unintended double entendre.

The sheriff looks a little dubious. “If you say so, but it you ever feel threatened at the very least I can serve an Order of Protection.”

His words are touching, and she gives him a real smile. “I appreciate that sheriff. I believe I'll be fine.” Not giving him a chance to respond she walks off towards Jordan, intent on getting him to say yes to breakfast.

As she walks her stomach rumbles, reminding her of the disquieting fact she hasn't eaten since lunch yesterday. _As good line as any really_ , she thinks as she stops next to his desk and leans her hip against the edge. “Have you eaten?” Even if he has she thinks she can convince him to come with her.

He finishes typing something on the computer before turning to her. “I had a cup of coffee,” **—** too bad it would be highly presumptuous to start buying bags of beans **—** “but I was just planning on browsing out of the doughnut box in the break room.”

“I think you should take me out to breakfast, because I'm starving.” She plucks briefly at his shirtsleeve, as if that's somehow enough to get him to say yes.

“What about Peter?” His tone is...odd.

She rolls her eyes, hoping that will cover much. “He won't mind.” She has to stop herself there or she's liable to tell him that Peter will be waiting for them, though Peter never said _not_ to tell Jordan that. In fact she thinks it might be kind of rude, no matter how much Peter would probably prefer it, to just corner Jordan like that. So she gives a little sigh. “In fact if we go to Cardamom and Green he'll be waiting for us. I think he wanted to talk to you, well the both of us.”

Jordan tenses a little. “That's very upfront of you.”

Arching an eyebrow she gives him a flat look. “Why not be upfront with you?” She shrugs. “The way I see it you can say yes to both and I can indulge in dosa and the best scones in town, you can say yes to breakfast and I'll probably insist you take me to The Bakery, or you say no to both in which case I hope one of the deputies brought my car in and drive myself to breakfast. Regardless of _your_ decision, I'm leaving and going to eat.”

He looks torn, but she doesn't press just lets him come to whatever conclusion he wants. When he stands she knows he's decided to at least go with one of the 'yes' options. “Where's Cardamom and Green?” He asks as he shrugs on his jacket.

“I'll give you directions while you drive.”

They head out to his car, and out of the corner of her eye she sees him lift the collar of his jacket up to his nose, clearly trying to smell herself on his jacket.

—

They don't talk much beyond Lydia giving directions as they head towards Cardamom and Green, and Peter...Jordan has a creeping feeling things are going to change today, whether he wants them to or not. It almost makes him want to run into the woods and burrow into some tree's roots. It's the coward's road, but it's so very tempting to try and follow, in a way, his sister's path.

Thinking of his sister though reminds him full well what she'd probably tell him if she were still here to knock sense into him: _Live!_ Not quite her dying wish, but a tall order.

As he gets out of the car he finds himself straightening his spine. He's faced worse than a conversation with a werewolf and a banshee, he _can_ do this. Though he's not sure if he should be treating this as a battlefield or the negotiation table. It would help if he knew _what_ the two of them wanted, he has guesses **—** _“She'll be disappointed she missed out”_ _ **—**_ but guesses mean nothing in the face of real people.

So he's more nervous than he's been in a good long while as they enter the restaurant.

If he wanted distractions the interior of the place wouldn't fail to provide them. Whomever had chosen the decorations couldn't seem to decide if this was a British tea house or an Indian restaurant and just went with both. Only humans could create something this chaotic and have it work.

The place looks practically empty as the host approaches them. “How many?”

Lydia smiles. “We're here to meet someone, Hale?”

The man nods. “Right this way.” He leads them to a tucked away corner table next to a window overlooking a garden. The host says something about being right back, not that Jordan's paying much attention to him, more focused on Peter **—** and feeling grateful that the table's round.

He and Lydia sit. Lydia a little closer to Peter, who leans towards her and lays a brief kiss on her cheek. “I see you managed to succeed.”

Jordan doesn't know if he should be embarrassed by that or not. The host returns with menus and waters, rattles off some specials, and asks if they want to get anything started. Lydia and Peter both order pots of Assam tea, Jordan defers. Then they're alone again.

If there's something to be started among the three of them, none of them are making moves to be the starter. Point in fact, Jordan doesn't think he's ever felt so awkward in all his life. He might not be running, but he reasons that since they're the ones who wanted him there, they should be the ones to start this...conversation. He picks up his menu and looks it over **—** only vaguely surprised the clash of English and Indian is continued with the food selection.

The awkward mood is so apparent that even the host, though Jordan guesses he's also the waiter, notices when he returns with two pots of tea and tea cups. They order food. Lydia surprises him by ordering the most, but then he does a little thinking. If she went to Stiles', then the department, then Eichen, then the department again she probably didn't have dinner and...he finds himself growing a little angry at the fact she probably hasn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

Even after they're alone again they don't speak. Lydia pulls her strainer out and sets it aside before pouring her tea, Peter just pours his tea **—** and it's strangely amusing to see Peter holding a china tea cup.

Finally it's getting so bad that Jordan can't stand it anymore. “I thought you two wanted me here for a reason.”

Peter and Lydia share a glance before they both look at him. Lydia speaks first. “Yes, though there isn't exactly an easy way of saying this."

“Then just say it sweetheart,” Peter says, taking the words right out of Jordan's mouth.

Lydia turns her head to glare at Peter. “ _N_ _ot helping_ ,” she mutters. Peter looks unapologetic. She sighs and turns her attention back of him. “Look, Jordan I...” she drifts off, but takes a sip of her tea to cover it. “I like you, and I want to explore that. I want to see what happens.” Her cheeks pinken a little and she looks away.

While normally this wouldn't be the sort of question he'd ask, but this isn't normal by a long shot, he turns to Peter. “You're okay with this?” It's probably a little rude for him to ask Peter that, but Peter's the one already dating her and Jordan knows he's here for a reason.

“Enough,” Peter shrugs. “On the whole I find it questionable, but I've been known to make questionable decisions and my interest has been roused enough that I wouldn't mind trying a few things with you myself.”

Jordan nearly draws up a glamour to try and hide his blush at that, thanks to memories of last night. Now some of Peter's words from earlier make sense. The both of them then, with him, and each other. While he was fine thinking about it in the abstract the other day, now in the reality he's unsure. “Can, can I think about it for a little while?”

Peter looks unconcerned as he shrugs. Lydia's clearly crestfallen, still she nods.

Luckily distraction comes by way of their food arriving. He tears into his hash without a second thought. His brain feels like it's turning into a briar patch, every thought is sharp and pointed, getting you when you're least expecting it.

Outside of the oddity of her being in a relationship with a werewolf already, he and Lydia might work. He wouldn't be the first knight to have feelings for a lady above his station. She needs someone who will stand behind her and with her. She's already bared her soul to him, and while he has yet to do the same he thinks he _could_.

And well, the two of them are immortal. Peter isn't, though he might last longer than most humans, regardless of whatever resurrection trick he has. They'll be standing together long after Peter's bones and dust. So yes, maybe starting things with her would be best for the both of them.

Which brought him around to Peter. Peter whom no one seems to trust, or like, or even tolerate really. Anyone outside of Derek and Lydia, though Derek was family and Lydia couldn't be considered objective.

Not that he could throw stones.

Overall Lydia being in a relationship with Peter doesn't bother him. Many fae were only monogamous in the long term **—** though there were outliers **—** on the whole remaining with the same person, but splitting apart every few centuries and leading their own lives for some time before drifting back together again. Only to repeat the process. As a system it worked well, finding your own way for a time had a habit of making your relationships better overall and from what he'd seen it made those involved happier in the long run.

He and Lydia didn't exactly know each other well enough that her seeing someone else would be considered 'taking a break' and...he takes another bite of hash. He's starting to wish he'd paid more attention to the polyamorous relationships he'd seen in the courts, maybe then he'd have an idea of how to proceed.

Though it could be he's over thinking it. Peter after all had only said he wanted to try things with Jordan, which hardly implies to Jordan a relationship deeper than physical. Not that he doesn't think Lydia _didn't_ want a physical relationship, but her own expression of interest had insinuated more than that.

It'd been so long since Jordan had had either though that he feels a little afraid of agreeing. He doesn't doubt that he would pick up the steps again soon enough. He just rarely shows himself so fully that his few relationships grew past the first few stages.

So, to say yes or say no?

The temptation to leave is growing stronger and he does his best to shake it off. It might help center him but it would decide things and he doesn't want to start things off on the wrong foot. A tree would be nice though. Doing his best to hold back a sigh he eats some more.

Despite the path his thoughts are taking he still hasn't asked himself the question he's been avoiding: what did _he_ want?

He turns to look out the window. Which is part of the problem he _doesn't_ _know_ what he wants. For the past eighteen years he's been searching for Lydia, but now that he's found her? He has no idea what to do. There wouldn't be any pleasure in returning to the holding pattern he'd been in the thirty years prior, and taking a new path is daunting.

On the other hand he _does_  like Lydia, and there could be something with Peter if he tries. So why not agree?

All of this makes him start to wish his sister was still alive. She'd never held back, even for him, and he could use her forceful presence right about now. He'd just have to muddle along as best he could alone.

Besides a general air of wanting to say no because he didn't want to commit to anything, did he have any _actual_ reason to say no?

There's a sliver of him that _does_ want this, wants to give in to touch and trust again. The rest of him he thinks might be falling prey to the age old enemy of all immortals: apathy.

Maybe a potentially complicated relationship would be just what he needed to combat it. With the end of the deadpool having just happened, he doesn't see a better time to start. Maybe this time they'd have more than two month's breathing room before the next crisis hit.

He finishes his bite and clears his throat.

Peter and Lydia both turn to him, expectant.

“I.” He takes a deep breath, sort of wishing they were in the garden below, then he'd have something to center himself. “I think I would be willing to try.”

—

Peter will admit, in the privacy of his own mind, that Jordan's words surprise him. To be honest he expected more resistance to the idea. Then again Jordan knows what he is, maybe that had to do with it.

The smile Lydia gives could outshine the sun. Peter's a little jealous **—** mostly because he doesn't think he'll ever do anything to get that smile himself. “I'd love to say 'you won't regret this', but I can't exactly speak for you.”

Which gets a twitch of a smile from Jordan, the sappiness in his scent coming to the fore **—** from pleasure, or happiness, or maybe amusement? It's a whole new scent-emotion profile he's going to have to learn. Some are easy it identify regardless of the person **—** interest and anger chief among them **—** but then there are the peculiarities and quirks that belong solely to individuals.

Lydia tosses back the last of her tea, a waste he thinks **—** the flavors are too rich and biscuity to treat it like it came from a bag **—** and stands up, walking over to Jordan. “I'm going to kiss you now.”

She doesn't even give him a chance to respond, leans in and plants her lips on his.

Watching them as the kiss deepens is an...interesting experience. The lack of jealousy he feels at that stuns him, though it might come for the fact that _he_ can kiss either if them if he wants to. He doesn't _stop_ paying attention as they continue to kiss, but he finds himself also listening for anyone who might be approaching, he wouldn't want this scene of theirs to be interrupted.

They pull apart, the both of them looking a little flush and breathing rapidly.

It doesn't surprise him when Lydia comes over to him, a little smile on her lips. “Do you want a taste?”

He decides not to quip that he already has, though semen and saliva are vastly different, and instead just pulls her in. Fingers weaving through her mass of curls. It would probably disgust her if he told her, but he can taste her whole breakfast, and some of Jordan's too, in her mouth. He likes it, it's real and firmly grounded in the now **—** and universes better than some exes who tended to use too much mouthwash.

It also means he can elicit unusual responses when he tries to chase a taste **—** like the assam she'd drunk. Lydia starts when his tongue slides under hers, but she quickly adapts. She looks even more flush when they pull apart. Peter's not exactly...smug about it, but there's an interesting pleasure in knowing he wasn't the only one to get her that way.

Out of curiosity he turns to look at Jordan.

The other man isn't as flushed as before, but he's breathing heavily, and as Peter inhales he notes that the whole of Jordan's scent is more intense and focused. _How interesting_. He leans in a little towards him. “Shall we complete the set?” There should be a few more minutes before the waiter comes back, and at the very least it seems appropriate.

Jordan surprises him by being the one who closes the gap between them and initiating the kiss. For the most part it's more of the same, breakfast with a hint of Lydia, but there's an unusual hint of green to him, one that vaguely reminds Peter of cut grass. He's a little shameless in chasing it, wanting to see what more he can get from it, but from the sounds Jordan, and distantly Lydia, are making the other man hardly minds.

Footsteps approaching intrude on his exploration however and Peter pulls away. Composing himself as best he can, and reaching for the last of _his_ tea.

When the waiter arrives it's almost as if nothing's happened and the man blithely collects their plates. “I'll be right back with the check.”

 _Ah, well_...while he plans on getting his money back sooner rather than later he's a little broke at the moment, and he's fairly certain Lydia's in about the same boat. Almost as one he and her turn to face Jordan. Who looks confused for a few moments before he rolls his eyes.

“Really? I'm pretty sure I just got taken out on a date and you're expecting _me_ to pay?” He doesn't sound angry or put off at all, neither does he smell it. With a huff he pulls out a wallet.

—

When Lydia gets home she feels like she's practically walking on air. There are some things she'd prefer to change about the past 24 hours, but everything since she'd woken up? No, she wouldn't change them at all.

Prada yaps at her as she heads into the kitchen, and with an indulgent smile she lets him out. It's nice enough out that she doesn't bother shutting the back door, just leaves it open letting in some of the cool breeze.

She hums to herself as she goes into the living room. She's got school work that she needs to do, but it can wait for now. Turning on the stereo she hooks up her phone and starts blasting Pandora. As she shimmies along to the music she wishes she could call Danny and tell him the good news, but he's still in school, and really he only knows half the story. Though that can't really pull her from her good mood.

In fact...glancing at the clock she feels a small measure of relief it's only a few minutes after noon. Taking her phone off she turned off the stereo then went and closed the back door. Slipping off her shoes she padded up to her room, making sure to close the door behind her.

Setting an alarm on her phone for two she sets it on her vanity as she steps towards her bed. That done she reaches under her skirt and tugs down her underwear. She falls onto her bed, staring up at her ceiling for a few moments before closing her eyes and moving her hands to rest gently on her stomach. She slides them under her loose top and gently strokes her way up to her breasts.

 _Four hands brushing and teasing, taking their time with her as they blindfold and bind her_. She squirms at the thought, part of her insisting that she jump ahead. She resists, shifting her hands higher so they just brush the underside of her bra. Arching up a little her hands move under her to unhook it, and she finds herself congratulating herself on going strapless yesterday.

Bra now gone the fabric of her top taunts her nipples and she shivers. Her hands return to her front, thumbs stroking the undersides of her breasts as she hums a bit of a song she'd just heard. When she stops humming her hands shift up to cup them firmly, pointer fingers flicking across her nipples. _Peter, or maybe now_ Jordan _lavishing her breasts with attention as she's helpless to stop it_.

A soft moan escapes her and she pinches her nipples sharply, sending wonderful flashes of pleasurepain through her. One hand continues it's assault while the other drifts downwards again, stopping to stroke her belly in a faux-soothing manner. _W_ _hich has Peter written all over it, she can picture his smug grin as he does it, breaking his appearance of a conciliatory lover._

She takes that hand off her skin completely as she starts to spread her legs as wide as they'll go. It's awkward but she shifts her hand still on her breast to the other one, resuming action there, while her free hand presses down on her skirt, using the fabric to tease her clit.

“Yeesss,” she hisses. She incrementally begins hiking up her skirt. By the time she's uncovered she can't take it anymore, she rubs her middle finger over her clit, enjoying the shockwave of sensation, before thrusting it and a second finger inside her, arching off the bed again and letting out a quiet cry.

At first she tries to keep her movements slow, in part to keep up with the fantasy coalescing in her mind, but she too quickly gives into her body's demands. Adding a third finger and pumping them in and out as quickly as she can.

She orgasms with a sigh, and lets herself go limp breathing heavily.

Moments later she starts again. Intent on enjoying herself for as long as possible.

By the time her alarm goes off she's orgasmed three times. On shaky legs she goes over to her vanity and turns her alarm off, then hobbles off to the bathroom to clean up.

When she gets out her gaze passes her window, frowning a little when she notices the bank of storm clouds coming in as she pulls on her bra and underwear. Hopefully the bad weather won't last too long.

The slam of the front door pulls her out of her thoughts and she heads downstairs to say hi to her mother.

*

After dinner she finally starts to peck away at her homework, though she's not sure if studying really qualifies as homework, but considering the history test tomorrow, it's necessary.

Two hours later, she sits upright with a groan. Stretching she gets up and decides to get herself a cup of chamomile.

Down in the kitchen she starts the electric kettle and reaches up to grab the right bag of tea, lowering herself she **—**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Well, there's Derek, and Lydia tells Peter some things, and sex.  
> Oh look, my very first cliff-hanger too!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally forgot to mention it, mostly because it slipped my mind, but last chapter contain page 100 of this fic!

She doesn't notice the rain as she walks, irrelevant compared to the drive within her. Pulling her inexorably towards someone. Lydia feels alive, more alive than she's been in a while. Around her there are faint whispers, happily gossiping like fishwives. All save one. Ineffectual hands press at her. ' _P_ _lease child, please. Scream for anyone, your Alpha, my brother, anyone. Just not my son, please! Turn your back and find some other soul to portend at.'_

Faintly she thinks that a dead woman should better understand that you couldn't bargain with death. She remains implacable as she walks on. The woman starts crying but Lydia is unmoved, nothing will prevent this turn of the wheel, and continues on.

Getting into the building is easy. She leaves a trail of wet footprints as she begins to climb the stairs, up and up and up. This is the floor and there is the door.

Behind it she can hear bare feet scuff against cement, the one and another, and another still sleeping. _Though not for long_ , a wry part of her pipes up.

The door opens, and there he is.

Lydia screams.

–Blinking she realizes she's standing in front of Derek and Braeden. A shiver wracks her and she realizes she's sopping wet. Quickly she embraces herself, arms chaffing to try and gain some warmth. “Wh–what?”

Derek reaches out with his free hand **—** Lydia has a small shock when she realizes the other hand's holding a gun. “Do you know why you're here Lydia?” His tone's gentle and soothing and she comes willingly as he guides her inside.

She shakes her head, and he and Braeden must have some sort of non-verbal conversation because soon the woman's handing her a large over-shirt.

Before Lydia can thank her and go change. Peter nearly careens down the spiral staircase. He freezes halfway down though, or he tries to but his momentum carries him down a few more steps. “Lydia?”

A shiver wracks her. “Hi Peter.”

Now trying to act nonchalant he finishes his descent. “What are you doing here?” He sounds halfway between accusative and curious.

“I...I don't know.” She shivers again.

“Do you want something to drink Lydia?” Derek again. Off to the side Braeden's stepped back, content to not participate in this conversation.

Somehow she manages a smile. “Sure.” His warm hand, which she hadn't realized had remained on her shoulder, leaves as he walks into the kitchen. She turns her attention back to Peter. “I was...going down to get some tea before finishing studying...and then I was here.” The small glare she sends Peter's way feels completely justified.

Peter ignores the glare and just as gently as Derek had puts his hands on her **—** they're even hotter than Derek's had been and she gratefully soaks it up. “Come on, let's get you upstairs and into a shower alright?” He turns his head slightly. “Just bring that tea up when you're done Derek.”

Gladly she lets him lead her, and doesn't even protest when he starts undressing her in the bathroom. Her shirt and skirt hits the ground with a pitiful sodden _thuds_ , and her underwear quickly goes the same way. “Shall I stay, or will you be fine on your own?”

“I'll be fine on my own.”

Something in his posture tells her that he doesn't believe her, but he still leaves. Reaching into the shower stall she turns it to as hot as it will go, Only stepping in when billows of steam start pouring out.

A hiss escapes her at the first touch of hot water to chilly skin, but she revels in it. Gently she runs her hands through her hair, carding out tangles. Once that's done she just stands under the hot spray, as she lets it warm her she wonders if now she should finally tell Peter about herself. Now that things have calmed down a little, though there's still Derek's death and Kate to contend with **—** however compared to nearly being assassinated those are small things. By the time her skin starts to prune she still hasn't decided one way or the other.

With a sigh she turns off the water and steps out, noticing the towel on the toilet seat, and the fact one of Peter's v-necks has replaced the button up Derek had given her downstairs. Which for some reason makes her smile as she dries herself. Slipping on her panties, which are dry enough, and the shirt she wraps her hair up in the towel **—** if she'd had a scrunchie she'd have braided her hair but she didn't think she'd find one here anytime soon. Picking up the rest of her clothes she does her best to hang them in the stall to drip dry; Derek probably has a dryer, but right now she doesn't want to go through that effort.

Feeling warmer than when she'd gotten here she steps out into Peter's bedroom. He's in bed reading, on the side table there's a pot of tea and a mug. As she walks towards it her head starts to hurt a little from the towel and she decides she might as well screw it, undoing the towel she squeezes out as much water as she can and starts braiding her hair. She’ll just deal with whatever she gets out of that later.

As she braids her eyes look over the room and she finds herself frowning. “Shouldn’t there be a hole in the floor?” A hole with stairs that lead out.

Peter looks up from his book. “Oh, I covered it. I don’t think Derek and Braeden will get up to anything, but,” disgust crosses his face. “I’d rather not hear it anyways.”

Lydia arches an eyebrow as she finishes her braid. “Wait, you mean...they’re...together?” She doesn’t find it creepy or anything, just not what she expected was all.

“Oh yes, and while I might not like her personally she hasn’t tried to kill, emotionally manipulate, or otherwise use Derek in any sort of fashion.” He shrugs. “So I’m calling it a wash.”

Laughing softly she walks over to the bed and pours herself a cup of tea, sighing in pleasure as the heat seeps into her hands.

When she glances back over at Peter there's a small smile across his lips. “Would you like to sit down?”

At first she thinks it's an odd question, then realizes the only place to sit is on his bed. Which isn't necessarily a problem, it's not like they haven't cuddled before. “If you insist,” she teases, setting down her mug so she doesn't get any on the bedspread. Slipping under the covers she curls up at his side and once they're both comfortable she reaches back and grabs her mug once more.

Contemplatively she begins to drink, a jasmine tea of some sort and just the right temperature too. If Peter senses anything wrong with her he doesn't mention it, just goes back to his book, not bothering her at all. Feels like the strangest thing that's happened tonight, she knows how much Peter doesn't like not knowing things.

After a time one of Peter's arms wraps around her back, but he doesn't do anything other than that so she lets herself relax into it. Finally though she feels like a person again and sets her mug aside. “Yesterday I told you I would let you know what Lorraine said on that tape.” It's bizarre how she feels like they're an old married couple like this, going through their nightly ritual.

Peter dogears his page and closes the book, leaning over a little to set it next to the tea pot. His blue eyes meet hers and he raises an expectant eyebrow. “And?”

She will not roll her eyes at him. “She...Lorraine knew I wasn't human.”

“So? You haven't been human since I attacked you,” he says it so unemotionally, like it's hardly worth bothering about now.

Old, familiar anger wakes in her gut. “Peter.” She didn't think he could be so...stupid. “She was murdered nearly a year before you attacked me.”

Before she even has a chance to react to him manhandling her she finds herself on his lap facing him. “Explain, now.”

“Since you asked so _nicely._ ” This time she rolls her eyes. “I'm fae like...” she has a rapid debate on whether or not to tell Peter what Jordan is, then decides it doesn't really matter **—** they're together enough now that he should know. “Like Jordan. I got kidnapped at birth and exchanged with a human baby. Natalie and Richard Martin's baby,” she hesitates for a few seconds. Does it really have any bearing on their relationship that Meredith's the biological daughter of the Martins?

It doesn't, but should she tell him anyways? She sighs and finds herself leaning forward to rest her forehead on his shoulder. “The girl now known as Meredith Walker.”

Out of all the reactions Peter could have given, laughter is not one she expected. Then again tonight Peter's not acting at all like she's expecting. His laugh is nice though, rich and deep. The sort of laugh you associated with favorite uncles and Santa. When he calms down he smiles and leans down, nosing at her hairline.

She pulls away to look him in the eye, her own narrowing a little. “What's so funny?”

“It's just, there's an old rhyme my grandmother used to tell me when I was younger: Under mound, in the dale/ find the fae and bid your old life farewell/ under mountain, in the hale/ or eat none and be home by the ringing of the church bell. Seems she was more right than she knew.”

The huff of her laughter ruffles the collar of his shirt. “It doesn't bother you? That I'm not really Lydia Martin?” Closing her eyes she rests her forehead on his shoulder, bracing herself for the worst.

He shifts a little under her. “Why should it? Before yesterday I'd never even met her. As far as I'm concerned _you're_ Lydia Martin. You've had that name far longer that she did.” One of his hands slides up the back of her neck to cup her head. “If you weren't Lydia I'd probably be dead by hunter's hands rather than Derek's. Who knows what would have happened with Gerard.” Peter sneers. “Or the Alpha pack, or the Nogitsune, though I guess we wouldn't have had to deal with the deadpool.”

Which only makes her feel marginally better. There's still some guilt in her at having taken this life from Meredith **—** though she also realizes Peter's right that if Meredith had been Lydia her life might have been far different than Lydia's.

“Regardless,” Peter continues. “I'd hardly consider it something you should worry about considering it's been said and done long before you even had conscious memory. I'd hardly blame a baby for the actions of adults.” He'd know all about blame wouldn't he?

Lydia sighs and buries her face more fully in the crook of his neck, breathing in his old book smell. “I don't know if that makes it better or worse.”

He gave a derisive snort. “Like _anything_ is black and white when it comes to the supernatural.” He starts scooting down, so that they're both lying prone. Kissing her on the temple he slides out from under her. “I'll be right back.”

She just gives a little nod instead of speaking and listens to him move; the room grows darker as he turns off the light and soon he's back in the bed, spooning her from behind. “Sleep Lydia, you'll feel better in the morning.”

Honestly she doesn't know if she believes him or not.

—

The exact same second Scott starts closing the loft door, the privacy cover for the stairs is coming off and Peter starts descending. “Well now we can start paying off some of the bills.”

Derek feels justified in the flat look he gives Peter. “Don’t you mean you paying off some of _your_ bills?”

“Point.” Peter sits down on the couch next to him. “Though some of this is going to paying Braeden.” His lip curls a little and Derek wants his senses back so much because he feels like he’s flying blind. “Not that she seems to be doing much in the way of finding Kate.”

Anger bubbles up at his uncle's words but Derek tamps it down as best he can. Braeden can stand up for herself and doesn't need him to do it for her. “How's Lydia?” He asks instead, grateful it could be considered a normal change of conversation.

Peter's eyes drift up a little, like he can stare through the ceiling, and he shrugs. “She's still sleeping. Whatever happened to her last night, it doesn't look like it will have any long term effects on her.” Part of him wants to call BS on the worry in Peter's voice, the rest of him's just glad Peter cares for _someone_.

Derek suppresses a shiver at that reminder. So far he's been good **—** or he'd like to think he's been good **—** at accepting the fact that as it stands he'll be human for the rest of his life. That didn't mean he wanted to _die_ a human, the loss of his wolf feels like he's missing half his limbs and some days he finds all he wants to do is just curl up in his bed and mourn. Though it seems he won't have many days left at all, Lydia hasn't been wrong with her predictions so far.

“Are you two...together?” It's an awkward question for him to ask. Not just because he doesn't want any sort of mental image of his uncle having sex **—** Derek's the younger one after all, _Peter_ should be the one asking _him_ embarrassing questions about his love life.

Peter arches an eyebrow. “Are you genuinely curious, or are you just trying to make conversation? And what if I am? Will you try to warn me off like Scott would?” Peter's as blunt with him as always.

While Derek appreciates Scott's worry, he doesn't want to be treated as if he's made of glass, or helpless. He sighs and slumps into the couch, because there's no good way to answer any of those questions, except maybe honesty. “I'm not concerned just...” His sentence drifts off as he finds he's not exactly sure where he was going with that. He groans as he buries his head in his hands, words used to come easier to him, and it makes him wish that whatever de-aging thing Kate had done to him was still in effect **—** then he wouldn't feel like the words were slipping away from him.

Peter's achingly warm body presses fully against his side and he feels Peter bury his face in Derek's hair for a moment. Even with his human nose Derek can still smell some of his uncle's scent: a little vanilla, something sharp and grassy, and a little mustiness. Closing his eyes Derek just lets himself breath it in, it's enough that for a short while he can convince himself he's still a werewolf.

He feels Peter sigh. “Things haven't been easy for us have they?” Derek knows it's a rhetorical question and doesn't answer. “As for Lydia and I, we'll have our bumps and who knows how long we'll last. For now we do each other some good. Regardless of that, she's important to me and I swear to you I will do my best to make sure she is not hurt, hopefully even by myself.”

Of course Derek can't tell if his uncle's telling the truth or not, but giving Peter the benefit of the doubt has worked out well. Peter begins rubbing his cheek through Derek's hair and Derek finds himself leaning into it, enough that he can kind of rub one if his own cheeks against Peter's neck. Only for a few seconds, because it reminds him too much of Saturday mornings before the fire, when after breakfast everyone would congregate in the living room and mostly end up in a huge pile on the couch while old cartoons played on the TV. Too much like being a wolf again, a reminder he didn't think he'd ever hate but now does.

Derek knows there are problems between him and his uncle, chief among them being that they don't talk about certain things. A part of Derek has the foolish hope that if he can just get Peter talking about life before the fire that would somehow fix some of Peter's problems and their relationship could be more of what it was. Regardless of those problems, ever since Peter came back from the dead he has acted more like family should **—** especially after the Alpha pack. Derek's resigned himself to baby steps towards what Peter used to be **—** he hopes that saving Cora from the Alpha's was the turning point but with Peter it's hard to tell **—** and despite some of Scott's qualms Derek's not going to throw away the last of his family for anything.

He keeps his face pressed against Peter's neck and accepts the scent marking.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Lydia's amused tone makes Derek jump a little **—** only a few weeks ago he would have been able to hear her approaching. At the moment he considers it too much effort to turn around and look at her.

Peter gives a huff of laughter. “Just some bonding, you could join us if you like?” All the proof Derek needs that Peter was telling the truth just minutes ago, wolves didn't scent mark lightly.

Lydia yawns. “At the moment I'm more interested in eating. Thanks though.” Just barely he can hear her feet pad against the cement floor. He sees her for a brief moment as she passes: wearing one of Peter's shirts and not much else, her red hair a seemingly tangled mess. Soon she vanishes into the kitchen and he can hear her begin to rummage around.

A part of Derek wants him to try and pull away, but instead he just sinks deeper into his uncle's embrace, taking the comfort offered because who knew how long it'd last. He does shift his position a little, and it must feel like he's trying to move away to Peter because his grip tightens a little and his chest rumbles.

Peter finally lets Derek go however. Part of Derek's ecstatic over the fact Peter's treating him more like family again, but the rest of him wonders if it's only because Lydia just predicted his death and Peter wants Derek to have good memories before he goes **. T** hen he decides it doesn't fucking matter **—** he walks into the kitchen to see about getting some of his own breakfast.

The counter covered in breakfast makings catches him a little off guard, especially with Lydia in the middle of it **—** she's never really struck him as the domestic sort. She sees him as she turns to toss an eggshell into his compost bin. “Hope you like omelettes, they're kind of the only thing I can make outside of baking.”

“You bake?” He grabs a slice of mushroom, barely dodging her swat.

She rolls her eyes as she starts beating the eggs. “It's just chemistry you can eat. Well...eat and not die.”

Something in the way she says that reminds him of Laura _so much_ and he has to sit down or he thinks he might just collapse on the ground. One of Peter's hands slides across his back, a brief comfort that suggests Peter might be willing to give more if Derek wants it, as he heads towards Lydia.

They embrace and Peter leans down to lay a peck on her forehead.

“Really Peter?” She arches an expressive eyebrow and tilts her head towards Derek, clearly trying to imply they have company and it makes Derek wonder how long they've been together.

Peter snorts. “I don't think Derek much cares sweetheart.” He pulls her up a little and they actually kiss, Derek looks away quickly. “I'm going back up to take a shower. If you're still feeling generous I'd like my omelette with sausage, spinach, and mushrooms.”

Her eyes roll, but even Derek can tell it's affectionate, and she gives him a little shove. “Go on then.”

Peter walks off, and it's just Derek and Lydia and a silence that feels pretty damn awkward. Not that you could tell it was bothering Lydia from the way she hummed as she started heating up the skillet.

He watches her, trying to figure out what to say. She goes over to the fridge and pulled out his milk, adding a little bit of it to the eggs **—** alongside a smidgin of baking powder.

Standing he moves to intercept her and gently, he might not be a werewolf but he still knows he's stronger than most humans, grabs Lydia's shoulder right before she opens the fridge to put away the milk. “Look, I, uh...probably should have said this a long time ago. But I'm sorry for trying to kill you last year.” These might be his final hours and apologizing to Lydia is the least he can do **—** everyone else he should be apologizing to are already dead. “I was angry and lost, and trying not to give in to panic. Which are all really excuses, not reasons, but they're all I have.”

There's a second of silence before Lydia shrugs his hand off and opens the fridge. Derek finds himself stepping back towards the island, _of course_ she wouldn't forgive him. Unfamiliar weight presses against him as arms wrap around his chest. They squeeze tightly and Derek finds himself looking down to see Lydia _hugging_ him. Feeling surprisingly nervous he tentatively hugs back.

“I forgive you,” she says it into his shirt, but he'll take it. She breaks away, returning to the now hissing pan, pouring in some of the egg mix and watching it intently as it begins to cook.

Sitting down again he feels his shoulders relaxing, regardless of what happens he feels a little better now.

*

After breakfast Derek stops Peter before he can head back upstairs. “I told Scott he could use the loft tonight so you should probably not be here.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “You might as well just join his pack now after _that_. You think I _want_ to hang around and listen to teenagers fumbling around?” He raised his voice a little. “I can just go over and bother Lydia.”

Over Peter's shoulder Derek could see Lydia rolls her eyes. “Sure, like I don't have mountains of homework to get through.”

Peter is grinning as he turns around. “That's hardly an excuse coming from you, you'll have it all done in no time.”

Lydia preens. Until she looks at a clock. “Shit.” She stands, bar stool scraping loudly against the cement floor. “I'm going to run upstairs and grab my clothes, then you're driving me home Peter.”

She doesn't even wait for a response before she's gone. Peter just sighs and gets up too. “I'll have my phone, but I've got things to do after playing chauffeur and would rather not be bothered.” Derek's pretty sure 'things to do' meant trying to track down Kate, but he could be wrong. Either way he won't pry. “I won't be seeing you until tomorrow.”

Derek nods as he watches his uncle get up and meet Lydia in the main room, before the both of them leave.

Alone in his loft Derek sits and contemplates dying.

—

Peter stalks **—** the perfect word really **,** he even has prey **—** the streets of Beacon Hills. All his senses tuned for any sign of Kate or her Berserkers. Sadly she hadn't been lurking in her sewer hideaway and is making him _work_ for his revenge.

Whatever her latest plan is it's taken him all over town chasing her scent, growing more and more frustrated as he goes. As it get towards mid-afternoon he grudgingly gives up the ghost, forcing himself towards the forest to burn off some of his rage. He'd rather not go to Lydia in his current state.

Shifting to his Beta form he runs, to distract himself from the anger he points his thoughts towards Lydia and Jordan.

 _Fae_ , with that one word she'd explained so very much.

No wonder the power he could barely access was so vast and deep. She's on a completely different level from almost everything else he's ever experienced. Perhaps the Nogitsune had more power but Peter's more that willing to bet if Lydia had been over a thousand years old things would have gone _very_ differently at Oak Creek.

As for Jordan, his strange scent and reticence in answering questions makes sense. How would Scott react to knowing the 'young' deputy was an ageless immortal being? In fact how _old_ was Jordan? Peter had thought himself the eldest in this burgeoning strangeness, and the idea that that's most likely false is a definite kick in the ass.

With ease he avoids the looping trail that he knows would lead him to the Hale house. It may have been nothing but foundation now, but that wouldn't stop the memories that he knew would pounce the heartbeat he stepped into the familiar clearing.

That train of thought lead him to Derek. Peter _should_ know what was wrong with him, _should_ know how to fix it. He so clearly doesn't and it's driving him to act in ways that are alien to him since the fire. It _hurts_ , but he's not sure he can stop because Derek _needs_ him, needs family to hold and comfort him. On the off chance of his death **—** _never in a million years_ Peter swears to himself **—** needs someone who knows what to do.

His feet pound the ground, and part of Peter aches to do it once more on four legs instead of two. That path's denied to him, and not even access to Lydia's power can give it back to him. Lydia, who was never human and drew him in before he even knew what he was doing. The wonderful kink in his perfect plan. The _fae_ he thinks he'd gladly walk through fire for.

Even though she's not there she once again draws his attention to Jordan: a mystery still, even if Peter now knows the most important piece of his puzzle. Is that why Lydia's drawn to him? Because they're so alike?

Is Peter's own inklings of attraction because Jordan _wants_ him attracted? Or it it just some hereto unknown preference for immortal beings? Peter can't help but laugh at that thought. ' _O_ _h yes, I prefer my partners to be infinitely more powerful and older than myself._ '

The amusement lingering he feels much more suited to facing Lydia, and taking a deep breath he shifts back and begins the long walk back to Beacon Hills.

—

The sheriff gives her a bemused look when he answers the door, and Malia frowns. “What?”

He just shrugs. “Just didn't expect to see you here again anytime soon.”

“Why? I don't get why not being with Stiles would mean I don't come over.” Her frown deepens. It must be one of those human things.

The man just shakes his head and steps aside. “Come on in then, Stiles is up in his room.”

Though she tends to come through the window because it's faster, the walk-trot through Stiles' house is a familiar one. It's dim in Stiles' room, not that that affects her vision in any way;.She flicks on the light to reveal a mess of papers...and Stiles fast asleep at his laptop.

Malia is pretty sure Stiles can sleep anywhere, and she goes up to him with a huff and gives him what she hopes is a light shove **—** since he didn't fall out of his chair she considers it a success. “Come on Stiles! You said you'd help me go through Lydia's econ notes.” These ones aren't in gibberish even.

Stiles mutters and shifts, the page he's resting his head on coming with him. Reaching out she grabs his shoulders and shakes them rapidly; which only makes Stiles' head loll in an amusing manner. “Stiles!”

Not getting any sort of response from him she reaches out and pinches the skin right behind his ear.

Which promptly gets him to jerk away from her with a yelp. “Christ on a fucking cracker. Don't _do_ that Malia.” He rubs the spot behind his ear.

She shrugs. “You weren't waking up.” She gives him another light shove. “Come on. You said we could study together.”

“Malia,” he sighs. “That was before you broke up with me.”

“I don't see how that changes anything.”

Standing he runs his hands through his hair as he starts pacing. “Look, people who aren't together anymore don’t really hang out.”

She blinks. “We have the exact same friends. So we'd be together all the time anyways.”

His hands flap about aimlessly. “Not my point!”

“Then just _tell_ me the point!” Dealing with _toothache_ is easier than dealing with Stiles sometimes.

With a groan he flops onto his bed. “Normal people don't go from a relationship to being friends.”

Gritting her teeth she resists the urge to stomp her foot like a child **—** she shouldn't behave like something she hasn't been in a long time. “I'm _not normal_ Stiles. Neither are _you_ , or anyone else we know.” Angrily she strides over to the bed and sits on him, doing her best to ignore his flail beneath her. “If we're not normal, why should we pretend we are?”

“Because that's what you're supposed to do,” Stiles groans into his blankets.

Feeling a little sorry for his lungs she slides off him and flops onto the bed herself. “Then shouldn't you help me study so people think _I'm_ normal.”

He groans again. “When did you learn logic?”

“That's logic?” It doesn't feel like logic, it just felt like the thing she should say because she thought it would make Stiles help her study so he thought she was 'normal'. Something in her shies away at that thought. She forces it back in line, she's _human_ , and humans are _normal_.

“I can't really argue with that can I?” He pushes is upper half off the bed, only for it to fall back on the bed as he goes to grab his textbooks. “Econ first then, and then we'll try some more history.”

Malia grimaces but nods, she can be normal.

They're interrupted from studying by the sheriff who raps on the door sharply before coming in, stopping right in front of them with a smile on his face and papers in his hand. “It looks like your habit of getting kidnapped is good for something.”

“What? And hey! That's totally unfair.”

Which earns Stiles an affectionate look from his father. “Since Brunski decided to try and kill you at Eichen they've decided to not hold us accountable for payment past due.”

That's all gibberish to her, but it seems to make Stiles happy if his expression and scent are anything to go by. “That's awesome.”

“So, tonight we're going out to eat. What do you want Malia?”

Her, he's asking _her_? She narrows her eyes at them both, feeling strange at having them both stare at her like that. “I like deer.” She shifts her weight, always an odd feeling on a bed, and frowns. Dad calls it something different when he pulls it out of their fridge...ah! “I mean, venison?”

The sheriff looks like he's trying to bite back a smile. “Even with the sudden lack of bills venison's a bit out of the budget. Anything else?”

“Pizza?” Stiles suggest, but Malia finds herself rolling her eyes because pizza's gross.

“I like beets, and fermented apples.” She wishes it was autumn, it's so much fun to sneak into orchards and eat the slightly mealy apples just lying there on the ground.

The sheriff laughs, but also claps her on the shoulder in a way she recalls is supposed to be friendly. “Then I can introduce you to the salad bar Stiles will force me to eat from.”

“Hey!”

“Though you're going to have to wait a few more years before I'll let you have anything close to fermented apples.”

Her frown from earlier returns. “Why would I need to get them from you?”

Stiles howls with laughter while the sheriff just sighs and shakes his head.

—

Lydia's just finished her econ homework when Peter texts her. _Downstairs, come let me in please?_ She can't believe he actually knows the word 'please'. Deciding it's not worth the bother to reply she goes downstairs, taking note that her mom's in the office grading papers **—** though the door's closed enough that if she and Peter are careful Natalie shouldn't see them.

Downstairs she thinks she should have asked if he was lurking about the front or the back door. Knowing Peter though it's probably the front door.

She's right and he smiles at her as he enters. “Good evening,” his voice is quiet. She guesses she doesn't need to warn him about her mom. Still she motions for silence as they go up the stairs and into her room. Her shoulders relax a little after she shuts her door.

Peter crowds her against the door, so much so that her entire front is pressed against it firmly, enough that she can feel his cock nestle between her butt cheeks. A little shiver passes through her as he gently brushes her hair aside to bare her neck. His breath feels hot against her as he moves his head down to nibble and lap at the skin newly bared. “ _Peter_ ,” she sighs. “I have an English paper to finish.” She would prefer to not stop him, but she's missed enough school as it is and failing homework assignments would do nothing good to her GPA.

His sigh is long and disappointed. “Alright,” he moves away. She goes back to her desk and starts typing again.

Despite her focus on work, she's still aware of Peter as he pokes through her bookshelves. Picking up a book then putting it back, clearly not finding anything of interest to him. A little afraid his actions will distract her even more, she pulls out some earbuds and hooking them up to her laptop brings up Pandora in a new window and lets her classical music station help focus her.

She also refused to look at the clock as she write, the only time her eyes leave her screen is when she needs to look something up in _Fahrenheit 451_.

Her single minded focus serves her well and after a read through for errors and mistakes she saves the essay and prints it out. With a relieved exhale she pulls out her earbuds and collecting her paper staples it together and slides it into her purse.

Before she can even think about it Peter's beside her. “Are you done?”

A 'no' would have passed her lips, though she has no idea why other than to make him suffer, if she could've lied **—** part of her wonders if Peter knows that particular bit of fae lore. “Doing everything due this week? Yes.” All the other work she had wasn't due until Monday.

She bites her tongue hard trying not to yelp when Peter scoops her up and carries her to the bed. Apparently he notices her grimace thought because one of his hands brushes her knee and the pain is gone.

He sits on the bed first, then sets her down to straddle his lap, hiking her tight skirt up a little. Her eye roll is affectionate more than anything else. “I'm surprised you were so patient.”

Leaning in he nuzzles her jawline. “Why wouldn't I be? I don't see any reason to stop you being as brilliant and successful as you want to be.”

Overall Lydia barely lets compliments get to her. Oh she loves for her hard work and intelligence to be acknowledged but most of the compliments she's ever gotten have been lip service or ass kissing. She takes them in, but does it with a healthy grain of salt. But Peter, Peter isn't trying to do either, well maybe a little of trying to get under her skirt, and it takes her aback.

A brief nip on her ear pulls her out of her thoughts. “It's no fun if you're not fully here sweetheart.”

Instead of replying she just leans in and kisses him, not caring a jot what he might interpret from it.

When they break apart he's giving her a real smile. “So nice to have you back in the present.” His arms snake around her waist, gently starting to untuck her blouse. “Perhaps I can interest you in something new again?”

“What this time?” She arches an eyebrow. “Are you actually going to blindfold me?” A little shiver passes through her at the memory of yesterday's masturbation fantasy.

A chuckle ghosts across her neck. “No, not unless you want me to.” His hands drift down to firmly cup her ass, digging in and spreading her cheeks through the fabric **—** a sensation that has her squirming a little. “Since you're so disinclined to giving blowjobs you're going to have to try taking one up the ass if you want Jordan and I at the same time.” Peter's words are crude, but effective.

“Anal sex?” Strangely enough his grip loosens at her words and his hands return to tugging her blouse out of her skirt.

He darts in and lays a peck on the corner of her mouth. “If you're worried I can take it slow. Though I want to hear you say yes before I really start going.”

There's an odd comfort to be had in that, and he only tries to distract her a little while she thinks. Overall it's not the hardest decision for her though. “Yes, but I might change my mind later.”

Peter smiles. “I can work with that.” He leans in a little and kisses her, sneaking his tongue in as he starts unbuttoning her blouse, slowly revealing her seafoam green satin bra.

She's pretty sure she and Peter have never spent this long making out before, but it's very nice. A sigh passes her lips as their tongues continue to tangle.

One of his hands drifts up from her waist to cup a breast, squeezing slightly before a finger begins teasing the circle of her areola. She breaks their kiss to arch into the situation, moaning in pleasure. Peter hardly seems all that displeased though, eagerly leaning down and in to lick a stripe up her neck. He reverses his trail with soft bites, enough that she feels them, but not enough to even bruise. It's nice to not have to remind him she has school tomorrow, though her finishing up her homework first probably drove that home.

A sharp nip on her collar bone pulls her out of her thoughts and back to Peter, in return she moves her hands from his shoulders up into his hair grabbing it firmly. He grunts against her cleavage before drifting to her untouched breast and lapping just under the edge of her bra. They need to do this more often.

What little stubble he has scratches at her skin gently as he continues his teasing. “So lovely,” he murmurs into her skin as his teeth scrape her tender flesh. His hands slide around her back and up to unhook her bra. She doesn't resist as he slides it off her, arching back a little, with the added bonus of rubbing against him, as he leans in and nuzzles her cleavage.

His arms wrap around her again, though this time in support as he shifts them both around to lay on her bed, his weight gently pressing her into the mattress. He starts moving down, in this position he's better able to lavish attention on her breasts and she sighs as she wraps her legs around him, trying to get more sensation.

Laughter vibrates through her as Peter's sucking on a nipple. A hand shifts back down to her stomach to press her back down and he pulls away from her nipple with a faint 'pop'. “Patience dear, you're the one who agreed to something new.”

True, and she is enjoying the leisurely pace somewhat, but... “That doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying to get myself off.”

He laughs again, this time giving her the sensation of his breath teasing her skin. “I wonder if I should be trying to teach you patience instead...” His 'threat' drifts off and she gives him a look as she laces her fingers through his hair.

“No backing out of your promises now,” she even almost means it as a tease.

Peter gives her a brilliant smile. “Of course.” He lays a kiss on the top of her stomach before moving down even more, her arms straightening as she keeps her grip on his hair.

Hands shift down to her inner thighs and she starts spreading her legs as he gently pushes against them. Unlike with her bra he doesn't take his time and just tugs off her panties. Returning to his previous position he lays another kiss at the top of her mound before shifting down just enough to tease her. His tongue darts out barely hitting her clit and she arches, biting her bottom lip hard in an effort to hold back her whimper. “So wet already,” his tongue darts out again, this time dipping into her channel for barely a second. “Sweet.” He turns his head and lays a kiss on the juncture of her thigh. “You'd think I'd be used to how sweet you taste by now.”

“ _Peter_ ,” she hisses. Doing her best to be quiet when all she wants to do is possibly scream at him to get on with it. To emphasis her intended meaning she tries tugging him back to her vagina by his hair.

A sigh from him has her twitching. “No self control,” he tuts.

She rolls her eyes. “I have self-control. I'm just not interested in having any right now. So fucking eat me.”

The grin he gives her is full of wolfish teeth. "I've got just the teeth for it too.”

Before she can snap a reply his tongue snakes in and mercilessly rubs against her g-spot. She tastes blood as she tries to hold back a moan.

He continues on like that for longer than he has any right to, driving her just to the edge of orgasm before stopping. His tongue turning instead to general laps, seemingly intent on consuming every bit of wetness she'd produced. Somehow he actually manages to sneak the beginning of her orgasm in without her noticing. Though she couldn't _not_ notice the ensuing rush of pleasure or the breathy whine that leaves her lips.

Peter pulls away and she watches with hooded eyes as his tongue goes to work trying to clean off his chin. That done he crawls back up and gives her a kiss. Kind of enjoying the taste of herself in his mouth. When Peter pulls away he has a curious smile on his face, seconds later he leans into her ear. “I'd be interested to know how Jordan eats you out, if he does that sort of thing.”

Shivers wrack her, _fuck_. “I...” she tries to get a hold of her breathing and lets go of him in the process. “I don't know if that's horrible teasing, or–” Very rudely, at least in her opinion he tweaks a nipple. “Or hoo _oot_ ,” it comes out as a moan as Peter's fingers press against her scars.

He seems intrigued by that response, but soon relents. Hands turning 'soothing' as they move up to right under her breasts. “It can't be both?” A nail scrapes the underside of her left breast. “Need any help trying to turn over?”

She nearly reaches out and smacks him, but holds back, limply rolling over. “Anything else and you're on your own.”

Peter chuckles and his hands move to her hips, easily pulling her up to her knees. From there to shift to her ass, plumping and playing with her cheeks.

Considering a few days ago she was in a position similar to this, though this time she isn't bound, she shouldn't feel as exposed as she does. There's no denying the fact that she does.

Peter's gentle though as he parts her cheeks a little, thumb just brushing the skin between her vulva and anus. “Don't worry Lydia,” his voice is soothing. Add to that the brushing and it feels a little like Peter's trying to hypnotize her. “I'll go slow, and if you want me to stop just say the word.”

“Oleander?” Not that she thinks it would have changed, but it's good to remind them both.

One of his middle fingers slips into her briefly, as if in reward. “Indeed.” She can hear him shifting around a little and soon she feels his breath against her ass. Despite his assurances she can't help but tense a little as she feels his breath move lower, and then...

She bites the inside of her lip hard, hard enough she's surprised she doesn't draw blood again, and a hand flails out to grab a pillow for her to bite instead. Neither of these things distract from the fact that Peter is currently giving her a rim job and _holy fucking hell_.

Biting into the fabric of the pillow, she knows she's a quiet fuck but there's always a first time, she arches into that tongue. Peter's being devious with it too, long laps, interspersed with quick jabbing darts; and she never thought something like this would get her going, but it is. While she knows in theory about rim jobs **—** she and Danny discovered sex at about the same time and tended to overshare **—** she's never actually _experienced_ one before. If they're all as good as the one Peter's giving her she's up for experiencing them again.

One of his thumbs starts drifting up, soon after he pulls away and she gives a disappointed moan. Until she hears a slurping sound, followed by a pop, followed by his spit covered thumb resting against the sphincter. She shifts at the sensation, expecting him to push it in, instead he rubs it around and around, like he's got all fucking night to relax her **—t** hough he kind of does. When he said slow she didn't think he meant _this_ slow.

“Alright?”

She turns her head so she can talk clearly. “Yes, now hurry up!”

It makes Peter chuckle. “Not quite yet. It's your first time dear, and I'd rather take things slow than too fast.” He leaves her completely and she clenches at the sound of the lube cap popping. He returns and a much slicker thumb rests against her anus, before once more circling. Her body's used to that sensation and she barely even feels it tense, which is probably what Peter was going for.

His other hand cups one of her ass cheeks for a second before pinching it, she muffles her yelp quickly, but before she can chastise him for that she feels a pushing pressure and...her low moan is barely audible through the pillow.

“There we are, not so bad.” He twists his thumb around inside her, and she feels every bit of it **—** not surprising considering how many nerve endings were down there. Gently he rubs his thumb against the inner wall and she gasps. “You doing alright?” She's not sure if she likes that he's being solicitous or not.

“Yes,” it comes out as a sigh. “Is it, _ngh_ , always like this?”

He removes his thumb and she feels _empty._  A little bit later she feels his pointer finger start to slide in and she makes a pleased sound, once it's all the way in she starts to feel the press of his middle finger. “It can be.” The full sensation grows as the second finger starts working its way in. “If you do it right.”

 _Christ_ , she arches trying to get his finger to slide in faster. Instead what happens is the angle of his fingers shifts slightly and she bites into the pillow again trying to hold in the yelp at the sudden, but fucking glorious sensation, that produces. It only grows more intense as Peter finally gets all of that second finger in and then starts _moving them_. The ensuing moan she gives is completely muffled by the pillow, but she can feel it vibrating in her throat all the same.

Fingers pump, and twist, and rub, and split, and dear God is he trying to get her to orgasm just from this?

That thought is enough to actually tip her into orgasm, and she starts whimpering at the sensation of her vagina trying to clench and flutter around nothing. She's pretty sure if Peter's other hand weren't supporting her at least a little she'd be collapsing onto the bed.

 _Well we can add anal fingering to the 'things I enjoy' list._  She'd say it aloud, but she's pretty sure she's lost all ability to speak.

Peter's fingers leave her, and once again she arches as if trying to keep them in. He's faster than her and she's left with that empty feeling again. Though this time it doesn't get assuaged right away. Instead Peter leaves her, and she's amazed she _can_ apparently hold herself up.

The crinkle of a condom wrapper has her tensing a little, some of the orgasm-buzz leaving her, especially when it's followed by the pop of the lube being opened again. There's a bit of relief when, after he finished the last of his own prep, he doesn't push into her right away.

Instead one of his thumbs presses firmly against her clit and begins rotating it. A gasp leaves her.

Once he's content with how wound up she is, his hands move back to her hips and pushes them down a little, forcing her to widen her stance. “Ready?” He murmurs as she feels the tip of his cock tease the ring of her anus.

“As I'll eve– _oooohhh._ ” The first sensation of his cock inside her ass feels nothing like his fingers, it's more insistent, pressing up against her _everywhere_ firmly and without ceasing. Unlike vaginal sex the sensation doesn't plateau after a while either, all those nerve endings building the feeling of being _so full_ up and up and up. This time she doesn't muffle her soft moan of _'yes_ ', wanting Peter to know she firmly enjoys it.

Him starting to pull out is an again an altogether different sensation.

As he keeps going, no faster or slower, she finds herself losing track of everything, more focused on the rising sensations in her.

Peter growls and she can feel his claws pressing against the skin of her hips. His speed finally changes, going faster than before, and bottoming out in her every time. She sighs again, and before she knows it orgasm number three comes and she's squeezing him so tight she's almost afraid he won't be able to pull out.

He snarls, though much more softly than usual, and she didn't expect him orgasming inside her would feel any different but it does.

She's floating on a cloud of pleasure as Peter pulls out of her and has her lie completely on the bed. As an echo of earlier he pushes her hair out of the way and noses behind her ear. “I'll be right back.”

A sound leaves her that could be considered acknowledgment as she listens to him get off her bed and go into her bathroom. She hears her shower run for about five minutes and then he's returning and moving her again, a warm washcloth gently rubbing her thighs before moving up to clean her up a little.

Once again Peter leaves and returns and she finds herself drowsing as Peter moves her for a third time after lying down himself. A faint echo of surprise goes through her when he finishes and she finds herself laying on top of him. His right hand comes up and brushes back a few strands of hair. “You alright sweetheart?” Once again showing her more care than she even thought she had in him.

“Mmmmfine.” She tries to bite back a yawn with little success.

Beneath her Peter's chest just rumbles in what she thinks might be a laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: La Iglesia part 1


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's been a while I want to shout out to my Beta [Jaz](http://rantsofafangirl.tumblr.com/), who's been wonderful and encouraged/ inspired me to write so much.

Peter'll probably be a little annoyed that she left him asleep in her bed this morning. Then again the fact she managed to get ready for school without him waking up surprises her, but he's a big boy and can deal with it.

Every time Lydia's been at Eichen she hadn't really listened to what was around her, more focused on the tasks at hand **—** finding Stiles, trying to get information out of Meredith, and looking through records respectively. It's true that she's been drawn here again for a specific purpose, but well, Deaton doesn't really rank on her caring list. She's not really invested and so more...open.

Thus stepping into Eichen this time then feels like walking into a bad argument. Eichen _screams_ at her, screams of anger and hate and pain **—** and why, _why_ is this the clearest her powers have ever consciously been?Already she can feel a headache coming on, and she can't imagine what staying here was like for Lorraine.

Bracing herself for the fact that it'll probably get worse the further in she goes she heads up to the desk and plasters on her best fake smile. “Hi,” focusing she tries to fill her voice with enough glamour to have the orderly do what she wants. It's hard to tell if she's successful without Jordan there to watch her. “I was hoping I could talk to...” Shit. She scrambles for a name. “Doctor Fenris.” That...that sounds right.

The orderly nods, clearly not noticing her fumble. “He's in the infirmary right now.” She points at the sign above her which lists the infirmary to the left. “Would you like me to page him?”

Lydia shakes her head and tries to be sparring with the glamour. “No thank you, I'll just go to him. Do I need to sign in?” She fills this with a little more glamour, because she'd rather not.

The orderly looks a little dazed. “No...you don't have to.”

“Thanks.” Without another thought Lydia goes left, hoping the infirmary isn't too hard to find.

It's not and she walks in, nearly stumbling at the sheer force of whispered-pain, to find a man looking over a comatose Deaton. “Doctor Fenris?”

The man turns looking startled to see her. “Yes? Who are you? How'd you get past the desk?”

She waves a hand, brushing those questions aside. “I'm here to talk to Deaton.”

His look turns a little patronizing. “That's going to be a bit hard to do, since he's in a coma.”

Lydia gives a real smile this time, despite the fact she feels like her brain's being assaulted. “Oh he'll talk to me doctor.” She steps up to the bed. “First you need to get me Meredith.”

“Meredith? Meredith Walker? What can she do?” Now he's incredulous, and she feels like she's trying to talk with a two year old.

She looks at him and fills her voice with glamour. “She can wake him up. Now get her please.”

The sooner she finds out what Deaton knows the better. Hopefully whatever it is will get Stiles to stop complaining about how Scott and Kira weren't in school today. She might not be happy with them but even she isn't going to begrudge them some alone time **—** now if only she could get some alone time with Jordan or even Peter herself.

—

Worry gnaws at Peter when he realizes Lydia isn't with the rest of Scott's pack **—** there's also a bit of relief that no one will know about that worry but him **—** considering it was her calls about why Scott and Kira were missing that got them all here in the first place.

In fact he's so caught up in that tangle that Stiles' biting comment barely phases him. “I don't know if you've noticed Stiles, but we're taking everyone we can. A plan I heartily endorse considering we've got no idea what Kate's planning.” An oversight on his part, he's starting to regret the fact he didn't try and deal with her earlier when he had the chance. After dealing with that Walker girl he'd gone to hunt Kate down, only to find she'd up and vanished. Typical.

Once again he finds himself grateful no one here can currently tell how much he's bluffing. “For all we know she may have even gone to a different temple. Considering she's got what, twelve hours head start? I don't think our odds of finding the two of them alive and well are the best at the moment.”

The pup doesn't seem to take too kindly to a possible threat to his Alpha, good instinct if a bit misaimed at the moment, and snarls. Malia physically holds him back one handed, the other hand full with Kira's sword, while Stiles steps in front of him. “Really Peter? I never took you for the doom and gloom type.”

Faintly he can hear Derek trying not to laugh and it makes Peter's own lips twitch to good effect. “You hardly know me at all Stiles. Now that I seem to have sufficiently freaked you all out, I say we put it to good use and leave.” The sooner this is dealt with the sooner he can get back to more important things.

Stiles shakes his head. “No. Not without Lydia.”

Which is all well and good, but A) Lydia isn't exactly trained to fight, something he probably should have rectified at least a little himself, and B) he's fairly certain whatever it is Kate's planning Lydia being there would hamper her. He refuses to think about what Kate keeping Lydia away might entail. Especially since he has no idea what will happen to him, in the literal physical sense and not just the metaphorical emotional sense, if she dies.

“If she's so important then why isn't she here already?” Braeden asking that question surprises even him.

“She had to go back to the school.” Stiles steps off to the side and pulls his phone out. “I'll see if I can get a hold of her.”

As if those are the magic words everyone mingles a little. “Why did Lydia go back to the school anyways?” Peter watches as Derek steps a little closer to Malia. A relationship he should probably encourage more, especially after this, Derek could use a pseudo-sibling to look after.

Malia lifts the sword as if that should be answer enough, but speaks anyways. “We got Kira's sword to track her, but all I get off of it is oil and metal. Kira left her jacket in her locker the other day.” She shrugs.

Stiles, jittering more than usual returns. “She's not answering.” Peter will _not_ let himself panic, especially surrounded by potential opponents.

Braeden for all her physical cool reeks of wanting to get this started. “She's got a car, she can catch up. Every minute we wait is another minute Kate has to do whatever she's planning.”

“Excellent point,” Peter butts in. He might not like her, but he's more than happy to agree with her if it gets them on the road faster. Lydia can take care of herself, and if not Jordan can look out for her **—** and isn't that a strange thought to be having? “Try to call her again from the road.” Depending on who he rides with, if he has any say in it at all it'll be Malia, he might try calling her himself and at the very least he'll call Jordan.

Peter attempts his best sneer. “Or if you want you can stay here and try to find her, while the rest of us save _your_ Alpha.” Which should stir the bee in Stiles' bonnet nicely.

From the sneer he gets in response his words hit their mark.

“Mason could look for her.” Everyone turns, a little surprised by the pup's outburst. “He's got a study group at school right now, I could call him and ask him to look for her.”

That's the best idea he's heard all afternoon. Seconds later they're bickering over who rides with whom.

He doesn't even care, or bother to listen in, when Stiles pulls Malia aside, from the look of things though she's not very happy with him. And just because he can't let anything be with this half-baked pack of McCall's before he climbs back into the Derek's SUV he turns back around. “Oh, and don't forget it's not just Kate we'll be fighting. She's got her Berserkers as well.”

Everyone freezes a little, and reek of fear fills the air. “Despite all evidence to the contrary they're not human anymore. Don't go into the fight thinking that you can just knock them out, or incapacitate them. The only way to stop a Berserker is to kill it.” Feeling like he's been enough of an ill omen he climbs into the car and closes the door.

“Don't forget to buckle up,” he reminds Malia. The last thing they need right now is to be pulled over by the cops and possibly be detained because of a stupid oversight.

—

Scott awakes with a start, simultaneously discovering the desperate urge to scratch his nose and that he can't move. Restlessly he tries to move his limbs, but all he gets in response is a rattling sound and feeling something cool pressed up against limb. He shivers, then shivers again when a wind blows through wherever he is, making him realize he's basically naked. _Oh God what..._ memories of having his date with Kira, then Kate... _Kate!_

Even though he knows it's useless he struggles anyways. Stopping only when he hears footsteps. Tensing he does his best to focus his senses. Leather and fabric, the strange rattling that is Berserkers walking, something rotting, dust, a pungent smell that can only be classified as 'cat', the stone he's laying on, the cool metal of the chains. Turning his head he sees Kate and her Berserker honor guard come in through an archway.

She smiles. “Good you're awake.”

“What did you do with Kira?!” He finds himself struggling harder, not just to try and get out of his bonds, but to somehow try to escape the growing fury in him that is his wolf.

Kate laughs. “Oh Scott, how _sweet_. Though really you should be more worried about yourself.” She heaves a put upon sigh. “Since you asked she's sleeping at the moment, hopefully we won't even need her. Your last trip here taught me it's always good to have a backup plan just in case.” The Berserkers move, rattling their way to either side of him. He tenses again, waiting for the expected attack. It makes him even more nervous when it doesn't come. “Have you ever felt an urge Scott, an itch? The instinctual knowledge that there's something out there calling to you?”

 _A howl in the night, dreams of blood and flesh, waking up with no idea where he is._ “Yes,” it's a begrudging answer though, one he hates.

She laughs again, though this time it feels meaner. “Oh Scott, angst doesn't suit you. When I escaped the Calaveras I followed that feeling and it led me here.” She throws her arms wide as if to indicate the whole of La Iglesia. “I couldn't believe how much power was sitting here waiting to be claimed and channeled, enough to make the name Argent feared again, enough to purge _this_ from me.”

Something like understanding twists in Scott's gut. “Kate, let me go. We can help you.”

A third laugh, this time mocking. “Help? Why would I want your goody-two-shoes _help_ Scott? When I've got everything I need right here?”

—

Peter doesn't understand how Malia can listen to this drivel, it's making his ears ache just listening to it from the volume she has it cranked up to alone. “Do you mind if I turn it down?” He'd rather not deal with ringing ears for the rest of the night if possible.

She shrugs and gratefully he turns it down. “Worried about Stiles?” He's only asking to be polite her worry fills up the car and he's almost sneezed twice now.

“I'm worried about everyone. Stiles and I aren't together anymore.” Which Peter is certain _everyone_ would consider a step in the right direction. He doesn't know whether to congratulate her on breaking up with Stiles, or just roll his eyes because _teenagers_.

“It's understandable. They do consider you part of the pack, and that's what good packmates do.” There's an ache in him that wants to be part of a pack again. That part also understands that packs don't have to be fellow wolves and that Lydia, and now Jordan, might fill that hole in him where someone like Scott would refuse.

“Should I be worried about you?” There's a risk in asking that question, she may be his daughter but he doesn't _know_ her. Which that doesn't mean he won't kill to see her safe. Though he finds the closer they get to Mexico the more clear headed he feels, and that's not exactly something he wants to examine at the moment.

A huff of annoyance escapes her, and Peter's fairly certain they've just had a human father-daughter moment. “I'll be _fine_.”

“Are you sure? We've got to go through Kate and the Berserker's to get to Scott and Kira, and who knows what else Kate might have up her sleeve.” He'd thought he'd known but it's clear she'd only trusted him as far as she could throw him **—** should he have expected anything different?

He can feel her gaze on him as she answers. “Scott says we're not murderers.”

It takes him longer to force his grip on the steering wheel to relax than he'd like. “There's a world of difference between being a killer and a murderer. Even humans understand the concept of defending yourself and your loved ones. Scott would kill to protect Kira.” He finds he doubts his own words. “Wouldn't you kill to protect Stiles, even if you don't love him?”

The fact she doesn't respond is answer enough. A few seconds later she tenses and he finds himself tensing in response. “What?” His own question gets answered when he feels the moon break over the hills. Curious that she felt it before him.

“The full moon,” the ways she says it it's a prayer. Though he has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at her for it.

This time he doesn't have to relax on his own, the moon helps. “Good, we'll need that power to get through the Berserkers.” Though he's got the feeling not even that will be enough. A brief glance in the rearview mirror shows him that things aren't going to well in the van, it'd be nice if that pup of Scott's didn't kill everyone before they even got to La Iglesia. Though seconds later Malia grimaces and he focuses back on her. “Should I be stopping?” He will, even if they don't really have the time.

She shifts in her seat and out of the corner of his eye he sees her dig her hands into her jeans. “I'm fine, just...trying to stay human.”

He doesn't even try to hold back his sigh. “Why bother? You were never human to begin with. Why start thinking you are now?” It's the worst thing about Scott really.

“What do you mean?”

Peter rolls his eyes, because she can't be _that_ oblivious. “I'm not human, and from what I've managed to gather your mother isn't either, in fact there seems to be no such thing as a bitten werecoyote, you're all born. Pretending's all well in good for keeping humans oblivious to us, but you shouldn't let that act become your life.” He takes a deep breath. “I think you'll find that's the difference between those who are born supernatural and those turned. The turned think the act is everything and the born know it's only an act. You don't have to be human to be in control.”

She smells curious enough that she's not going to turn his words away out of hand. “So how do I get control?”

He'd love to give her an answer, but can't come up with a convincing enough lie, not for werecoyote at least. “Perhaps you can ask your mother when we find her.”

Before Malia can respond to that they're at La Iglesia.

—

A sigh escapes Kate as she dips her hand into the bucket. “Ya know, I wish we had time to do this properly, or that we could do it at the right time. Rituals are usually so persnickety about those sorts of things.” The hand comes out black and Scott squirms.

“I mean as far as gigs go this one would have been pretty sweet for Derek if you guys hadn't woken him up. Four wives, being waited on hand and foot, all the food and drink he could ever want, people worshiping the ground he walked on. That's the high life right there.” Her hand lands on his chest sending up a cloud of dust that has him coughing and sneezing.

“What” **—** cough sneeze **—** “Are you doing?” He asks again Whatever she's putting on him tickles and feels far too...smooth.

Kate rolls her eyes. “I would think it's obvious Scott. Since you had to go and ruin the vessel we chose we've been forced to settle for a...sub-par one.” Her hand dips back into the bucket and he gets slathered with more black dust. “Like I was saying if we had _time_ we could do this right. But,” she shrugs. “Needs must when Tezcatlipoca drives. At the very least Derek can still be a good sacrifice.” A grin that terrifies him grows on her face. “I'll get to hold his heart in the palm of my hand again.”

Scott's caught up enough in trying to figure out what she's doing that her words don't register right away, but when they do he has to swallow down bile. “What are you going to do to him?”

Her dust covered hand starts reaching for his face and he squeezes his eyes and mouth shut and takes the deepest breath he can. All to get the least amount of contact with the dust as possible. “Oh Scott, still a sweet adorable puppy. I'm gonna cut his chest open and rip out his still beating heart.” Her fingers spread all over his face before moving up to ruffle his hair.

Faintly he hears sounds of movement and activity above them. Kate freezes, then slowly straightens. Fearfully he watches as she looks at the Berserkers. “Go! I need more time.”

They leave and Scott struggles again, those are his _friends_ he needs to save them! Kate notices and clicks her tongue, she sets the bucket down and rummages around the base of the alter. When she returns to his field of vision she has an obsidian dagger in one hand and an obsidian disk in the other.

—

Kira awakes with a start, which quickly turns into a scramble when she realizes she's laying atop a disturbingly large pile of bones. Pressing her back against the nearest wall she closes her eyes and takes deep musty air filled breaths. _You're alright Kira, just some bones. You're a badass sword-wielding kitsune and have dealt with worse_. Though at least with _worse_ she had friends to help her, and her sword.

Opening her eyes she looks around, _yes door!_ She picks through the bones on her way over. Reaching out she grabs it and tries to pull it open, _no locked!_ It's not in defeat but she still bangs her head against the bars a few times. _Okay think_ , she doesn't know how to pick a lock but this door's old enough that if she had the right tool she could probably force it open.

As she looks around for something that can be shaped she finds a small part of her brain still freaking out, not from being surrounded by bones **—** some of which are clearly human **—** but from the lack of electricity humming around her. She's only known the sensation for two months and already _not_ experiencing it is what's strange.

She does her best to ignore it for now, it's a good thing to know but acknowledging it will only turn her mind against her, and seriously looks around. There are a few iron rings that look _very_ embedded in the stone. Other than that the only thing in the room is bones.

Grimacing she resigns herself to digging around for something, but first she turns her attention back to the door and gives it a thorough once over **—** if she's lucky she can totally _Pirates of the Caribbean_ her way out with the hinges. After about a minute though she gives up, because she really has no idea what 'half-barrel hinges' even look like. She'll just have to hope that she can find something that would work in the leverage department and just try it out.

Resigning herself she goes back over to the pile she thinks she'd been sleeping on and starts sifting through the bones, she starts setting aside what she thinks might be leg bones **—** those are the longest ones right? Once she's got a few picked out she does her best not to be completely grossed out as she carries them back to the door.

Picking one of the more medium sized ones, though considering they're all about the same length it's really just the closest one, she jams it through the door in a manner she thinks will get her the best amount of lift. Making sure some of the bone rested against the lowest crossbar she crouched down and pushed up.

A few moments later she gives up with a grunt.

She gives it a few more tries with a few different bones, but always the same result. With an aggravated groan she throws her most recently used bone against the wall as hard as she can. It shatters on impact, which is useful for her next endeavor but she shudders to think what might have happened to her if that had happened while she was holding it.

Mindful of hurting herself she picks through the shards grabbing the ones she thinks could be most useful in lock picking.  _W_ _hen_ she gets home she'd demanding her mom actually teach her how. Mom probably knew how to pick locks like, nine different ways.

Once more back at the door Kira gingerly grabs two bone shards in her hand that she hopes are thin enough to work and sliding her hands through the bars starts try number one. A part of her is grateful that she doesn't have to deal with a guard watching her, Kate probably thinking the lock would be enough.

Kira has no idea how much time passes, she has her phone but she's afraid of running out the battery and she'd never really gotten into the habit of wearing a watch, but she stops counting after her sixth try. Eventually she gets it and the slither of chain has never sounded so sweet.

Sticking her head into the hall she looks left and right, _all alone_. Resolved to find Scott she decides to go left, then backtracks to grab a piece of bone up off the ground again. This time when she goes left she marks an 'x' on the wall. She doesn't _think_ this place will be that much of a maze, but better safe than sorry right now.

Despite her drive her wandering feels a little aimless, and she's seriously thinking of going back to the last fork and taking the left when she sees a hulking shape start to come through the t-junction ahead and she freezes.

 _Shit, shit, crap, fuck_. Moving as slowly as possible she presses herself up against the wall, and prays to every god and kami she can think of that the Berserker doesn't come down this way.

It's just her luck that it does.

Without a second thought she turns and runs the other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Week: La Iglesia part 2!
> 
> NGL everyone, Scott's POV (while important) was kind of a pain in the ass to write, Kira's however was _lots_ of fun and I can't wait to use it again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are folks, the end of season 4 (though obviously not the end of this fic by a long shot).
> 
> As a minor warning there's some gruesome (though not all that descriptive honestly) violence in this chapter.

Kira huddles in a corner, trying not to cut herself on the pile of obsidian nearby. Heavy breathing on the other side of the corner has her freezing. So far she's managed to elude the Berserker, but it's still managed to follow her. Part of her wishes she knew more about Berserkers, maybe then she could figure out how it's keeping on her and finally escape and find Scott.

The rest of her shoves that part to the side, she is a sans-sword kitsune and life's never fair. _So what can I do?_

A full frontal assault is basically suicide, but there's got to be something she can do to incapacitate it. Maybe her heart-stopping trick? Except she doesn't think a Berserker is going to lie their patiently and let her do her thing. She wishes she had a powerline or _something_ , because electrocuting this asshole would make things so much easier. If only...wait...

As quietly as possible she pats herself down praying that, _yes_! Clenching her lips shut to hold back the sound of triumph she wants to make she pulls out her phone. Closing her eyes she takes a deep breath and concentrates, praying again that this idea works.

 _Come on, I can totally play Thor here_ , she might not have a powerline but she has a phone and people ran off electricity so...focusing she tries to push as much personal electricity into her phone as she can. Hopefully mom and dad won't get _too_ mad at her for forcing her phone to explode.

She can feel her phone start to heat up in her hands but still she forces more power into it, the longer she can hold on hopefully the greater the explosion.

Finally her hands can't take it anymore and she stands quickly, sending shards of obsidian clattering.

The Berserker's breathing halts for a second, then it's pounding footsteps come closer and... _wait for it, wait for it_.

The Berserker comes careening around the corner and, sending off one final prayer, Kira tosses her phone. Part of her wants to snap off some action dialog, but the rest of her can't actually think of something to say.

Instead she just turns and runs, moments later there's an even-louder-than-she-expected bang shortly followed by a bellow of pain. _Score one for electricity!_

Hopefully it's incapacitated enough that it won't bother her anymore. _Where are you Scott?_

—

Before Peter can even get out of the car they're being attacked. One punches through the window on Malia's side and grabs her hair, she screams turns as best she can, claws popping out to bury themselves in the Berserker's arm. It snarls in response, but then tries to pull her out through the broken window.

Peter throws himself into action, doing his best to lunge towards her. Briefly pinning her to the door before his hand reaches the handle and opens it, throwing the Berserker back enough to send the both of them sprawling into the dirt. Malia snarls and Peter hopes she doesn't mind the shitty haircut. Grabbing Malia none too gently he hauls them both up and runs towards the van, there's safety enough in numbers and Braeden's guns should be something of a deterrent.

Halfway there he stops dead in his tracks.

Because there's a second Berserker and it's stabbing Derek. That's the final fucking straw. Not that Peter hadn't intended to kill Kate but now, now he'd have _fun_. Make an example that no one would question.

That part of him drowns out the part that wants to go and comfort Derek. Braeden firing her gun barely even makes him flinch. She quickly drops down to Derek's side and Peter finds himself taking a few steps closer. “Are you alright?” It comes out in a rush; because part of his power is everyone else thinking he doesn't care, and Stiles will remember this.

“I'm fine.” Derek grits out. A lie if Peter's ever heard one. “Go, save Scott.”

Peter barely bites back a snarl, always _Scott_.

Though in this case finding Scott should also lead him to Kate. Most of him is crying out to go to Derek he turns and heads towards the battered, somehow still standing doors of La Iglesia.

The inside of the church is ugly and dilapidated, and he's surprised it wasn't destroyed ages ago. He'd thought all churches were supposed to be 'transporting' or something. Regardless, Scott's scent is easy to pick up in the dusty morass. “This way.” He might not be in this to save Scott, but he's damn well in it to avenge Derek and he's not going to fail his nephew if he can help it.

—

Jordan finds himself fidgeting as he does paperwork. He's been half expecting _some_ form of contact from Lydia or Peter all day, yet none has been forthcoming and it's making him anxious in a strange way. It's just, it seems like common sense to actually _communicate_ with the person you're kind-of in a relationship with. He's sent texts to both of them himself, but he hasn't gotten any sort of response from either.

Completely by happenstance he looks up to see the sheriff pacing in his office, cell phone firmly attached to his ear. It's enough to almost make him want a were's super-hearing. Instead he confronts the sheriff as he's leaving his office. “Sir?”

The sheriff sighs and makes a 'follow me' gesture. “It seems Stiles decided it was best to ignore me and went down to Mexico with everyone else to try and save Scott and Kira.”

Part of Jordan becomes worried, but he reasons that 'everyone' also includes Peter and he wouldn't let anything happen to Lydia. “Scott and Kira are missing?” This is the first he's heard of it.

Which earns him a bemused look from the sheriff. “Glad to know there's someone less out of the loop than me.” He opens the door to the evidence locker.

“Sir, why are we in here?”

Another sigh. “Before they all left Lydia went back to the school to get Kira's coat, except she never showed up at the meeting place.” Fear and dread and panic congeal in Erwann's belly. “Then Liam's friend Mason went to go find her except they haven't heard from him either.” The sheriff goes over to one of the newer boxes and pulls it off the shelf, opening it he digs around a little before pulling out the IED from weeks ago. “Can you arm this again?”

Some of the dots connect and Erwann nods. “Yes. Sir, I think I should be the one to go to the school, you should stay here in case something else happens.” He hates it, but he laces his voice with glamour. All the while he's cursing himself for leaving Lydia alone like that, he'd let himself grow complacent with the end of the deadpool and now he's suffering for his hubris.

The sheriff gives a dreamy nod as he puts the IED back in the box. “You're right. I'm getting too old for this shit anyways.”

Internally Erwann gives a small sigh of relief, everything always goes better when the victim can explain their actions away, they're less likely to shake off the influence later. Externally he gives a nod. “Don't worry sir, I'll make sure they're okay.”

All he gets in response is a floppy hand wave.

Before the sheriff can realize what's happened Erwann's out the door and dashing towards the main entrance. Grateful he's got his keys in his pocket he yanks open the door to his new cruiser and jams them in, flicking on the siren as he turns the car on and tears out of the parking lot. He barely pays any attention to anyone else on the road as he floors it to his house. In his driveway he leaves the engine running, but turns off the siren before bursting from the car and running pell mell to his front door.

Once inside he nearly runs headfirst into the door down to the basement, shattering the 'notice me not' glamour on it. Just as recklessly he careens down the stairs until he finally comes to a stop, breathing heavily, in the middle of the room.

From old habit he heads towards his sword, but stops himself. If Kate's working with Berserkers his sword's not going to do him much good. For the first time he finds himself wishing for his sister, not in a emotional support sense, but in a completely practical sense. One touch from her and it would be bye, bye Berserker **—** though he has control of his own opposite power. Considering the lack of sister he instead goes to the giant weapons cabinet looming in it's corner. Throwing the doors open he stares at the heavy weapons therein and after a brief mental debate pulls out a bec de corbin.

Shrouding it in glamour he starts heading back upstairs **—** if he had the time he would have donned his armor, but with no idea how long Lydia might have been trapped he can't waste that time **—** and then back into the car. Once more turning on the siren he roars down his street and points his car towards the school. _Don't worry Lydia, I'll be there soon to help_.

—

“Can you still pull a trigger?”

Braeden's question makes Derek start to laugh, than curl up as the pain in his gut comes roaring back to full strength. “Yeah,” he manages to grit out. “I'll be fine, 'tis but a scratch.”

She stares at him, apparently not getting the reference. Derek would find that funnier if he weren't in such pain. He tries to sigh, but it comes out more a rattling cough, and holds out a hand. “Give me a gun, I don't need to stand to shoot.”

The metal feels frighteningly cold in his hand, even though Braeden's hand curls around the gun and his own hand. “I'm not going to let you die.” Her brown eyes stare deep into his own and he finds himself caring for her even more.

A guttural sound echoes over the ruins, destroying the moment. “You might want to be more concerned with saving yourself first.” He's dying already, it's pointless for her to die too by trying to save him.

She stares at him for a few more seconds before getting up and slowly making her way over to better cover. He watches as she peers around the corner then retreats, turning to face him and shaking her head. Nothing.

Another sound, this one a lot like the rumble of a motorcycle, echoes over them **—** why couldn't he have at least kept the hearing? Once again Braeden looks around the corner before turning to him again, this time she nods. Changing the grip on her shotgun she holds up two fingers before resuming her grip.

He can go down fighting to save someone good.

—

Almost without thinking Lydia reaches into the basket and pulls out one of the aluminum bats. She's quickly found she's had it up to here with being pushed around by bigger, stronger creatures, and she's not going to fucking stand for it anymore. Turning around she tests the heft of the bat, could be better, but also could be worse. Mason looks at her like she's gone a little crazy which is fine, though she doesn't consider embracing this ball of cold anger inside of her as crazy. “What are you doing?” He hisses.

“I am going to take out that Berserker with this bat. Then I am going to treat myself to a bubble bath and the most decadent hot chocolate money can buy, because I swear to God I just want to relax for like six hours.” Raising the bat over her left shoulder she barely even starting when she feels it start to go _cold_ in her hands **—** absently she makes a mental note that apparently extreme emotions can trigger her Winter powers **—** she lets loose a wordless shout and charges. Mere seconds later she hears Mason join in behind her.

Then the Berserker turns and _roars_ , and Lydia finds her courage evaporate like water in the desert. She's far too committed now to back down, especially with even-more-defenseless-than-her Mason following. When she gets close enough she lets her bat swing, yelping when the top half of shatters, while the bottom half nearly vibrates out of her grip.

Before the Berserker can do anything in retaliation there's a deeper shout behind him. In the moment it takes for the Berserker to turn Lydia sees Jordan standing towards the other end of the hall with a... _poleaxe_ in his hands? Which is more of a threat to the Berserker than Lydia with her broken bat and Mason. It roars again and charges, and Lydia prays that Jordan knows what he's doing. He does, because seconds before the Berserker's on him Jordan swings his poleaxe, the hammer portion smashing into the Berserker's head and destroying it in a fashion better suited to a horror gore-fest.

The now headless body slumps to the ground. Behind her she hears the sound of a wooden bat clattering on the concrete. “Oh God, I think I might be sick.” She wonders if she should be worried about Mason, but when the throwing up never happens she thinks he'll be relatively fine.

Holding the shattered bat she clutches it to her chest and flutters her eyelashes exaggeratedly. “Our hero!” Despite all her sarcasm she does mean it. She doesn't think she could have glamoured the Berserker, and she's still working out the winter-cold stuff **—** maybe she could have frozen him, maybe not.

Jordan seems to get what she's going for and rolls his eyes as he steps towards her. “Are you both alright?” He pulls her into a hug and she lets him, laying a brief kiss to the pulse in his neck. Which earns her a small start of surprise, then she bites back a sound as he pulls her up a little and gives her a kiss worthy of a romance ending. He gives her a hard squeeze before letting her go. “I was worried about you.”

She finds herself blushing a little. “I'm fine.” She pulls away and turns to look at Mason she sets the destroyed bat on a shelf. “Mason?” He's swaying and looking unsteady, and the fact his skin's gone a little sallow probably isn't good. With quick steps she gets along side him and starts ushering him out. It's a lot easier with him than it was with Stilessince he hasn't quite hit his growth spurt yet.

When they get out of the hall he seems to get a bit more control of himself. “What? Did he just?” Shaking off Lydia's supporting hand he half turns to look at Jordan behind them. “Did he seriously just smash a guys head in? I thought police weren't supposed to do that...Oh God you said that thing wasn't human...”

Much more insistently she pushes him outside and onto a small grassy knoll. “Deep breaths Mason, you did _not_ imagine any of that and it did happen. Alright?” Letting him know he's not hallucinating seems like a good start to introducing him to the supernatural.

“I'll be right back okay Lydia?” She looks up to see Jordan seemingly holding nothing **—** she wouldn't want to be seen carrying around a bloody poleaxe either. “I'm going to put my weapon back, then deal with the body, alright?”

She nods deftly. “Alright, I'm sure we'll still be here, but if not...” she pats her pockets, then remembers she lost her phone when the Berserker grabbed her. “Shit, look for my phone too if you can.”

“No need,” Mason laughs unevenly. “Got it right here.” He pulls her phone out of his pocket and offers it up. She's going to take the fact he's aware of the conversation as a good thing.

“Thanks Mason,” she refocuses on Jordan. “I'll call if we move.”

He nods and walks off.

Turning back to Mason she crouches down beside him. “Mason I want you to repeat after me: 'I did not imagine the nice knight beheading an evil killing machine.'” She doesn't care who gets mad at her for doing it, but she's going to tell Mason _everything_.

―

Without a second though Malia tosses Stiles Kira's sword. “Go find Kira!” She doesn't even bother to see if he does so, just whirls around to face Kate and her Berserker, snarling. Her ears prick though when she hears an all too familiar ' _fuck_ ' and footsteps going the other way. _Good_. Even though she's focused completely on Kate **—** she has a strange stone dagger pressing against Scott's chest and Malia has to hold herself back from lunging at her **—** she senses Liam and Peter stepping up beside her and wolf out, tugging her own half-transformation forward.

Kate pouts at them. “Three against two, that hardly seems fair.” Scott opens his mouth, his teeth looking much whiter against whatever black stuff Kate had put on his skin, but Kate whacks his temple hard enough that his head lolls before he can speak. “Now, now it's no fun if you spoil the game. If you're all here I bet that means Derek's here too,” Kate smiles, and Malia finds herself shivering. Kate glances at the Berserker. “Kill them.” She whacks Scott again, and then she's turning and running down another hall.

“Well fan-fucking-tastic.” Peter sounds different when he's wolfed out, Malia isn't going to argue with his sentiment though. Instead of replying she charges, hoping to take the Berserker by _some_ sort of surprise.

—

“Kira!” Stiles shouts as he runs down yet another hall **—** a part of him hopes he'll be able to find his way back later.

He knows finding Kira is important, but how the hell does everyone expect _him_ to do it? It's not like he can track her scent, or sense her, or anything else decidedly supernatural like that. All he can do is run, and shout, and desperately hope he stumbles across her. At least his flashlight illuminates everything well enough that he's not making a _complete_ idiot of himself

 _Come on Kira, I know you're down here somewhere,_ he slows down to a jog to pace himself, a little. “Kira!”

Reaching a 'Y' in the hall his eyes darts left, then right. Then he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says to himself. “I'm gonna head down the left branch, and Kira's gonna be around the next corner I turn.” Another deep breath and opening his eyes he takes the left branch. The corridor seems to go on forever before ending in a T-junction. He goes left again.

Then shrieks and brandishes Kira's sword, like it'll do _him_ any good, when he sees someone coming down the other end of the hall.

“Stiles!” Kira's voice gets the shriek to stop.

His body's still flooded with adrenaline as she comes up to him, so his hands shake when he holds out the sword. “Come on, no time to talk we've gotta join everyone else.”

She smiles, and her eyes flare kitsune-orange as she takes the sword. “Then what are we waiting for?”

—

The Berserker flings Liam into one of the pillars, and even though Peter doesn't really care he still snarls and lunges claws first towards it. Managing to embed his claws in it's shoulder before it does the same to Malia.

She growls and leaps up, her own claws scrabbling to get into the eye holes of the skull to try and do some real damage. Reeling the Berserker begins to stumble backwards and... _shit_. He sees stars as he gets rammed into a wall. Somehow he manages to hold on a little, the hand that got forced free wraps around to try and rip the Berserker's throat out.

He's so focused he barely registers the incoming footsteps. “Malia, Peter, let go!”

Usually he's not one for taking orders from teenagers, Lydia being the exception, but he does so. Managing to snag Malia's arm and roll her out of the way with him. “ _HA!_ ” The altar room fills with light and the unmistakable smell-taste of ozone, quickly replaced with the scent of well charred flesh that has Peter's bile rising **—** and memories struggling to get free.

As he rights himself his eyes dart to where the Berserker used to be to see nothing more than charred flesh, a little out of fear he looks at Kira. Who's holding her sword out in front of her and smiling triumphantly. Until she sways a little. Stiles catches her before she can fall. “How the fuck did you do that?” Stiles sounds more in awe than anything.

“I convinced myself I was Thor.” Kira gives a shaky laugh and Peter stops paying attention, more interested in getting himself back under control before he shows weakness over the scent.

When he's finally in control he gets up and joins everyone else at the altar, where they're helping Scott upright after managing to free him from his shackles. Everyone looks a little lost as to what to do and Peter gives a little internal sigh of annoyance. “Come on, Kate can't have gone far.”

—

Braeden doesn't stop firing at the Berserkers as they approach. Rationally she knows it won't do anything there's still a part of her thinking she's got that snowball's chance and she might get lucky.

So she keeps firing, right up to the point Kate appears and Braeden finds herself slammed against a wall by a Berserker, the other one looming behind Kate. Good, none of them seem all that interested in Derek. Kate's lost enough control that she's shifted, though that doesn't seem to stop her in her gloating. “Do you find it galling that you got this close to succeeding, only to die?”

She _won't_ roll her eyes at something out of a corny movie, she's got _standards_. A little ways away she sees the flash of headlights and smiles. “Oh, I don't know. Success is a lot closer than you think.” A car that had its headlights turned off comes roaring over a small pile of rubble and screeches to a halt. Before Kate can even react to that Spanish fills the air along with the sounds and smells of gunfire.

The Berserker drops Braeden, and instead of joining the fight **—** she trusts the Calaveras enough **—** she runs to Derek. Who's looking much paler than before and smells a lot like blood. “Derek?” He doesn't respond and she reaches for his cheek, doing her best not to react to his cool skin.

His head moves easily when she turns it to face him, and she reaches out with her other hand to find a pulse. Not bothering to hide her sagging relief when she gets one; though it's thin and faint. Letting go of him she turns her attention back to the firefight. One of the Berserkers looks well and truly down, but the other is still going and Kate herself is doing her best to get close enough to do damage. There are also a few Calaveras close enough to hear her if she shouts.

Which she promptly does. “I need a medic!” Fuck she'd even settle for a first aid kit.

One of the Calaveras glances her way, clearing having heard her, but he doesn't do anything more than that. _Bastard_.

She's about to shout again, but someone starts approaching and she jerks her final gun from her waistband and points it.

Peter doesn't freeze but he does slow. Eyes flaring blue. “I'll watch him, _go_.”

It's not a moment **—** because she doesn't trust him **—** but she trusts that he cares about Derek and so gets up and runs.

At this point the Calaveras insistence to keep shooting seems almost comical. Though it's made less so when she spots the motley collection of teenagers that is Scott McCall and his pack huddling behind a pockmarked wall trying not to get shot.

Right now she feels fearless enough to run at the Calaveras, jogging past the asshole who refused to help her and instead grabbing one of the older looking ones and whirling him around. “I need a first aid kit,” she snaps.

Chris Argent, _Argent_?, stares at her for a few moments before nodding. “Come on.” He drops his gun, which is a shitty thing to do, and yanks open the trunk to a nearby SUV pulling out a first aid kit the size of a boombox.

Trusting that he'll follow she turns and starts running back to Derek, praying for the first time in a long while that he's still alive.

Peter's still there beside Derek, the veins on his arm black which seems to be helping Derek a little; and so is Stiles now, who's glaring at Peter. Argent barely hesitates though as he jerks open the kit and starts handing her supplies. Quickly she cuts some of Derek's shirt away and finds herself glad she's long grown used to treating wounds **—** though they're usually her own. Derek's eyes fly open and he snarls as she pours disinfectant over the wound **—** she finds herself both relieved _and_ annoyed **—** but that seems to take even more out of him and he slumps, starting off cursing from everyone, except Peter.

Whatever panic he might be feeling Argent doesn't show it as he threads a sterile needle and ties off the thread. “It might be a good idea to hold him.” Peter rolls his eyes and doesn't move. Argent looks like he might give an annoyed sigh, then bites it back and starts the process of stitching Derek back up.

The sound of someone rummaging through the kit has her looking up to see Stiles pawing through it. “Stop that.”

He ignores her until he pulls out a portable defibrillator and carries it over.

“Do you even know how to use that?”

The look he gives her speaks volumes in the annoyed scale. “Duh, I got Melissa to teach me after the Alphas left.”

That's, that's good, she hopes. Argent snips his thread and checks Derek's pulse. Though she thinks she can guess Derek's status from the way the black is starting to lessen in Peter's arm. “Pulse is getting weaker.”

For a moment Peter looks wild, like he might attack them all to try and defend Derek, but then he's in control again and pulling away a little.

Now Stiles is the one who's holding back his panic, sort of, tearing into the defibrillator and pulling out two white patches while an automated voice starts speaking. “Shut up,” Stiles snaps and the voice winds down like it's run out of battery. “We need to lie him flat and take off the rest of his shirt.” She and Argent share a look but do so.

If Stiles is bothered by the fact Derek's chest isn't rising and falling he doesn't really show it, quickly putting on the two patches, which Braeden realizes have wires attached to them. Stiles turns his attention back to the box and jabs a bright orange button. “Come on Derek, don't make me call over the one girl lightning show.” Derek twitches, but not much else. Stiles hits the side of the defibrillator like that will do something. “Come on you stupid piece of shit.” He smacks the orange button again.

This time Derek shudders and shoots upright eyes flaring brightest blue. “Get away from him!” Peter snaps, there again and yanking off the patches. Argent does so, drawing a gun, just in case she hopes. Stiles still lingers close, clearly entranced.

What Braeden sees next she wouldn't have believed if someone told her.

Derek shudders and a ripple of _fur_ passes over him, somehow beautiful and grotesque simultaneously. Then he curls up on himself before arching and writhing. Literally she blinks and Derek is no longer there, a large wolf with gorgeous mottled gray and brown fur standing in his place.

The wolf throws his head back and howls.

As if in response the Calaveras finally stop shooting and Kate's head jerks over staring wide-eyed at the wolf making its, _his_ , way up the nearby rubble pile. Peter, almost surprisingly, following. Argent and Braeden watch uncaringly as the two of them started towards Kate. Who turns and starts running. Despite her speed the two of them catch up. From where Braeden stands she see the wolf turn back into Derek. He says something to Kate, but the distance is too great for Braeden to hear what.

Somehow despite the distance she can see Peter smile as he pins Kate to the ground.

—

“Stop,” Scott's tone is all warning and no promise, and shaky. Even though Peter can feel him unintentionally tugging at the bond between them it's only enough to bring Peter's wolf to the fore and not anything else of real import **.** He’s saturated himself too thoroughly in Lydia’s powers to ever have to truly worry about that ever again.

To prove it he digs his claws a little deeper into Kate's throat. “Why Scott? Because she deserves a second chance? Will she deserve another when she comes and razes our town to the ground? Will you stand upon the ashes and smile like some grand messiah and forgive her again? Are you going to hand her the knife that kills you? It's all well and good to have expectations of people Scott, but I think you need to also learn that some people just won't want to live up to them.”

“ _Peter,_ ” again an inexperienced tug. A poor attempt by an Alpha who refuses to learn anything. There's a part of Peter, a _very_ stupid part mind you, that _wants_ Scott to challenge him, for this to end in a battle for dominance. Regardless of the fact that Scott's spark is that of a true Alpha and so cannot be taken by force or guile.

He finds himself laughing, his features shifting back to human. “Oh Scott. Do you think just because you're an Alpha, and a true one at that, that I'll bare my throat and bow to you? It doesn't work that way, which you'd know if you bothered to _ask questions_.” More anger seeps out with those words than Peter intended and he can feel the whole chamber tense as if in fear of what he'll do to Scott. “You might be an Alpha, but you're not _my_ Alpha, no one is. If it weren't for _my_ bite you'd still be an asthmatic nothing and not the 'true' Alpha you almost are.”

Beneath him Kate attempts to speak, but Peter thumps her head against the dirt. “This is grown up werewolf things Kate, hush. Really Scott if it weren't for Kate here none of us would be here at all. Without her I'd just be another werewolf in a pack, no nightmares, no fear of fire, just a man and a wolf. I'm doing us all a favor here. For a few moments could you please think of the needs of your pack and Beacon Hills instead of your existential angst over no longer being only human. You'd think a year would have driven in the fact that you're stuck this way through your thick skull.”

From the way Scott reacts it's clearly a touchy subject for the boy. Before he can lunge at Peter taps the tread between them and he stumbles, surprised out of his beta-form. Had he thought rising to Alpha would have severed that bond? He wonders if Scott even knows it exists.

“Have you noticed that you're the only one trying to stop me?” The shock when that fact sinks is glorious. “If you ask nicely I'll tell you why.”

Scott glares but doesn't speak, ah well. Peter starts tightening his grip preparing to tear her throat open once more. “Why?” Malia's question manages to surprise Peter, and he finds he can't help but smile.

“Thank you for asking Malia. You know how I went on a little killing spree back when Scott had just been bitten. Well before Derek tore my own throat out, as was his right,” Peter allows, inclining his head in Derek's direction. Part of Peter wishes Derek would put on some clothes.

“My last act as Alpha was to kill Kate here. And unfortunately I didn't go deep enough and she survived to become the thing she is today. No one is stopping me because I'm proving to the Calaveras, who incidentally seem to be holding Argent's leash, that _I_  intend to clean up after myself and take care of my responsibilities. Though I guess the rest of Scott's pack is just standing aside so Scott can deal with it.” It's completely off-hand, and from the way poor baby Liam snarls and shifts he takes it as the insult it's meant.

Meaning _someone_ in the pack has good instincts. Not that Scott encourages them, case in point his hand shoots out and stops Liam from attacking. As a pack they could easily take him, though he'd hope Derek would help him out **—** not that he expected his nephew to die for him. Scott on his own? That answer had yet to be determined.

Deciding that he's lollygagged enough Peter acts. It's easy for him to behead Kate. Though getting through the spine is a bit of work, he sets her head off to the side. “If you're already feeling queasy you might want to look away now.” He doesn't look up from his work but from what he hears nobody does as he suggest. Not that he expected any of the hunters to, their loss. Using claws to cut through the muscles of her chest is busy work and getting through the ribs is just brutish **—** he can hear someone vomiting during the repeated _crack, crack_ of snapping bone and rolls his eyes, he _did_ warn them. Finally though he can put the breast bone aside and reaching in digs out the heart.

“Oh my god,” of _course_ Stiles is the first to speak. “What the holy fuck are you doing?”

He's regretting not thinking about bringing containers, especially since this had been the end plan all along **—** Lydia would probably laugh at his lack of foresight. “I'm giving her the surest death possible. Anyone happen to have wood and matches? Cut off the head, cut out the heart. Burn all three separately and spread the ashes of the body over water, the ashes of the head over land, and bury the ashes of the heart at a crossroads.” He's not really surprised when a few of the Calaveras come forward with bundles of wood and a butane lighter. “Ah, thank you.” He stands, grimacing at the blood on his clothes, and looks around at the audience he has. “None of you need to stay here you know. Though a word of advice Derek, you might want to get dressed before you cross the border.”

As expected his words make Derek huff and roll his eyes. They also get Derek moving, ushering Scott and all of his pack towards the prison transport. Scott seems bent on fighting him, still trying to save Kate even though she was already dead? Yet Derek is back to his usual strength and Scott's struggles seem half-hearted at best.

Peter ignores the rest of it, favoring instead focusing on building the woodpiles for his fires **—** an event he slightly dreads not that he'll show it surrounded by hunters. Once he feels confident enough that they'll burn evenly he lights them, the familiar crackle of flames making him twitch. It doesn't stop him though from going over to Kate's remains and dragging the body over to the biggest pile and tossing it in. He repeats the process with the the head and the heart.

Now the only thing he can do is wait. Even though it's useless he finds himself praying that the fire burns faster and hotter. All the sooner for him to be out of here and to get the smell of burning flesh out of his nose. As dawn breaks the fires finally die down enough for him to safely start scooping up ashes, noting but not paying much attention to the sounds of the Calaveras as they start packing up and leaving.

Once he's gathered up all of the ashes, or enough of them, he lets himself feel tired and worn and hungry. He's got a long way to go before he'll be truly safe, and it'll take him most of the day to get there. A sigh escapes him as he climbs into the car, thanks to Braeden he doesn't need to worry about going through border patrol **—** illegal byways were so much better.

The monotony of this part of Mexico's desert passes by without incident and before he knows it he's back in the states.

A little past the border he stops and hauls himself and the box of Kate's head ashes. Pushing aside his tiredness he opens the the box and shakes it out into the wind, watching as the ashes dance and spread in the wind.

Once the box is empty he gets back into the SUV and for a moment just sits in the seat, part of him wants to take a nap so very badly, but there's work yet to be done.

It's a bit circuitous but he takes the 101 up the coast, stopping at a random beach and grabbing the box containing the majority of Kate's ashes. He encounters a few dog walkers on his brief trip, but they leave him be. Thinking him just another mourner fulfilling a relative's final request.

Back in the car he finds himself relaxing a little, he's nearly finished.

Just past Eureka he pulls onto the shoulder at the first crossroads he finds and without any sort of ceremony dumps the last of Kate's ashes there. He feels a million years old as he climbs back into the SUV, but now all he has to do is go home.

When Peter pulls into the parking lot of the loft he's surprised to see Malia sitting on the front steps, waiting for him. She remains sitting as he walks up to her and crosses his arms. This close and in daylight he can see the damage the Berserker did to her hair and he hopes she doesn’t leave it like that **—** he could probably suggest a haircut to Lydia and have her bring it up with Malia. “How long have you been out here?” He feels he's allowed to be cranky since he's been up nearly 48 hours with no sleep and little food. Right now he wants to eat until he's sick and curl up with Lydia or Jordan, he's not feeling picky, and sleep for a week.

She arches an eyebrow. “Not since we got back if that's what you're wondering. I only came down when I heard your car come down the road.”

Considering he doesn't think she'd been able to do that a few weeks ago he's dutifully impressed. “Been practicing much?”

A grin that makes her look more like she's eight than nearly eighteen crosses her face. “Derek's been teaching me. He's better at it than Scott.”

There's a smug flash of pride in Peter at that, because of _course_ Derek's a better teacher. Vaguely he thinks he should push Derek to finish his teaching certificate **—** he shivers at remembering not being able to _move_ even though he'd stolen Laura's Alpha spark and listening to Derek talk. “So why then, are you waiting for me? I'd thought you'd be off cursing my name like the rest of Scott's pack.”

Standing she shrugs. “You're honest with me, and I like that.” A fact that doesn't surprise him at all. “So far you haven't hidden anything to do with me from me.”

“Considering I don't see any reason to, I'll continue to do so.” He hopes she gets the implication that the moment it benefits him, or probably Lydia, he'll lie and mislead her. Though with Malia being so...inept he can't tell.

“Will you take me out to lunch?” She blurts it out, like she's actually nervous about his answer.

“Any reason or place in particular?” Not that he doesn't think it's a _bad_ idea to learn more about her and try and create a bond, or something like it. He's just taken aback she's the one taking the first step.

“No pizza.” She grimaces. “I don't understand why people like pizza, my stomach hates it. I want to talk about looking for my mom.”

Ah yes, the mysterious Desert Wolf. A woman who apparently intrigued him enough that he slept with her. He wonders if they were together long enough that he introduced her to his family **—** if he did Talia took it from him too. He finds himself curious as to whether or not she'll hold his attention now. Or if he's so firmly entrenched himself in Lydia and the groundwork with Jordan that he won't give her a second glance.

Even after everything he still finds he's unsure if he wants what's happening with Jordan to work out. He's never been much for sharing, but then there are parts of his mind, parts even he objectively knows are not 'normal', who feel immensely pleased at getting _two_ toys to play with. Not that he can play with Lydia, not like before, the bond he'd created between them doesn't work like that. It's as unchangeable as the cycles of the moon and no matter what might happen in the future she'll forevermore be his pole star. Giving himself a mental shake he refocuses on Malia. “Sushi, tartar?” If her stomach can't stand carbs still those're perhaps good places to start.

She makes a face. “What're those?”

“Sushi's usually raw fish and rice, tartar's prepared raw meat.” He finds it strange she doesn't know about them already, they seem like good 'transition' foods for someone who's been an animal for most of her life.

For a brief moment she looks flabbergasted, like he's just told her the sky is green, but then she... _bounces._  “You mean people can eat them and not get weird looks? Why hasn't anyone ever told me this before?!”

Peter will _not_ roll his eyes. “Yes Malia.”

Before he can say anything else she's dashing to his car. “Hurry up! I want to try real food again.”

With a huff he leisurely walks back to his car, just to annoy her. The start to something good? He wonders as he pulls out of the lot. Or just a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Lydia learns some unusual self-defense, Malia hankers to find her mom, and Peter gets rich quick.
> 
> From here on out folks it's the great unknown.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *does a little dance* look who just broke 100K!

Jordan feels a little hesitant in going over to Derek's? Peter's loft? He's also resolved himself to the fact that he needs to teach Lydia, and having Peter there will mean someone to practice on and with. After a deep breath he knocks on the steel door. Derek slides it open and looks at him in silence for a few seconds. “What did Peter do now?”

There's a faint 'hey!' from  the upstairs portion and Jordan has to fight to turn his laugh into a cough. He doesn't succeed from the look Derek gives him. “I was just hoping if he had some free time that he could come with me.” He's not sure he wants to be any more specific than that.

Seconds later Peter emerges from the kitchen. “You're in luck deputy, I've got a free day, and I find myself bored.” He watches as Peter grabs his coat and gives a mocking wave goodbye to Derek, then he's breezing down the hall forcing Jordan to trot to catch up.

“So why do you want...we'll hold that thought until we're in your car.” Peter glances behind himself as if expecting Derek to have followed them. Blinking Jordan nearly asks what he means, but the dots connect. That's right Derek got his werewolf self back.

They both remain silent until they reach his little used car, once they're both in Jordan turns it on and flicks the radio over to static before starting to pull out.

“Now that we won't be overheard. Why on earth do you want me?”

Jordan resists the urge to roll his eyes. “What? I can't come and see you now that we're...together.” He wonders briefly if he should try and name whatever it is between him and Peter, or if he should just not bother.

Out of the corner of his eye he can just barely see Peter give him a sly look. “Why Jordan, are you trying to come onto me?” Almost nonchalantly one of Peter's hands moves to rest on Jordan's knee, blazing hot and impossible to ignore.

“Not intentionally.” It comes out as half a squeak, but it makes Peter laugh and remove his hand. “I was hoping you'd be willing to help me teach Lydia some self-defense.”

Peter slouches in his seat. “The fact she's currently home alone has nothing to do with it?”

“What?” Jordan feels his hands tense as he tries not to squeeze the life out of the steering wheel. The response is old habit now though, Lydia's life is in less danger than it had been earlier this week.

The way Peter stretches has Jordan focusing firmly on the road. “Her mother's gone to some teacher's conference for the weekend.”

He shakes his head. “No. It's got nothing to do with that.” There are some very tempting images fluttering around in his head from Peter's words, but Jordan firmly shoves them into far away corners. “I just thought starting sooner rather than later now that it looks like we'll hopefully have some breathing room would be best for her.”

“I agree,” Peter's voice has lost every bit of teasing which is actually a relief to Jordan. It means Peter agrees with him and isn't just humoring him. “In fact I'm sure you've forgotten more about fighting than I've ever been taught.”

It's such a subtle dig that Jordan doesn't get the implication right away, but...now his grip really does tighten on the steering wheel. “What did Lydia tell you?”

Peter shrugs. “Only that you and she are fae. Which, to be honest, I don't think _I_ would have guessed. They were only ever characters in my grandmother's stories.” Those words stir up an interesting mix of pride, relief, and a small measure of appreciation. Lydia had mentioned in her tale **—** stars only a week ago? **—** that Peter rarely, if ever, talked about his life before the fire or his family. To have Peter say that? It shows a measure of trust that Jordan honestly didn't think Peter had.

“Then I'll tell you the same thing I told her earlier this week: I honestly don't remember how old I am, but I do know I'm well over a thousand years old.” The only way he could truly figure out how old he was, that he knew of, would probably legitimately kill him.

Peter's silent for the rest of the ride over to Lydia's.

At her front door Jordan insists on ringing the doorbell, even though Peter asserts they've got every right to just waltz on in.

When Lydia opens the door she gives them a strange look. “Is there something I should know about?” She sounds wary.

Jordan gives her his best comforting smile. “No, but I was thinking if you wanted to we could start on those self-defense lessons.”

“Oh,” she sounds relieved. She smiles too. “Yes.” She steps aside to let them in. “Should I change?”

She looks as stunning as always in an unusual grass-print dress. It's hardly a good place to start **—** though he knows that fighting in a skirt is different than in pants and that will be something they'll also need to work on **—** for now. “Yeah, pants and shirt you can move in.” She starts to move up the stairs, and he's not exactly sure what Peter has planned but he snags the other man's arm before he can even move two steps towards her. “We'll be waiting in the backyard.” There's got to be  _some_ grass there they can work on **—** wood isn't as hard a surface as stone but soft is better to start.

Peter doesn't seem angry with Jordan, just pouts as they head into the backyard. Or pouts until they're past the back door. He bares his teeth at a pomeranian that looks about as threatening as cotton fluff, in response the dog yaps then scurries inside. Peter then corners Jordan against a wall and...Jordan hadn't thought this one through. “If I can't have a little fun with Lydia. I guess I'll just have to make due with you.” Before Jordan can think of a response Peter's leaning in and they're kissing, and it's not at all like that first kiss in the restaurant. After a stuttering heartbeat Jordan actually responds, pushing back and trying to sneak his tongue into Peter's mouth.

Lydia loudly and pointedly clears her throat. “While I'd be more than happy to let you continue any other day, I thought we were going to do lessons?”

Jordan's sure he's blushing, but Peter looks unashamed as he pulls away. Until he glances at Lydia. She just raises an unimpressed eyebrow at his brief growl. “Really Peter? These.” She gestures at her clothes. “Are from years ago and I highly doubt they even smell like him anymore.”

Peter just wrinkles his nose like he's smelled something nasty but before he can speak Jordan does. “That might be all well and interesting, I'd like to get _started_ today.” Lydia's exes aren't exactly important at the moment.

“Fine.” She uncrosses her arms and stands halfway relaxed. “I noticed you didn't bring anything in so what are you going to teach me? Some Asian martial art? Jiu Jitsu? Boxing?”

There's a very small part of Jordan that wants to laugh at Lydia's earnestness, but he squashes it even more ruthlessly than his earlier romantic thoughts. It's not Lydia's fault. He takes a step towards her. “Not exactly, eventually, yes I, or some other instructor, will teach you some form of combat best suited for you.” Besides fencing he can't think of a style suited for someone with her small a frame. “I'm going to be completely honest with you here.”

Lydia arches another eyebrow, though this one is amused. “I'm pretty sure you usually are.” Behind them Peter snorts.

Jordan's own lips twitch as well. “Yes, but I don't tell you everything and I'm going to say a few things you might not like right now. For the foreseeable future I'm not going to teach you to fight in the usual sense, I'm going to teach you to escape and run and hide.” His hands rise up to cup her face, only partly to forestall her protests. “You're your mother's heir, if you're being forced to fight that means I and all her knights and armies are dead, and even in that case you need to flee. If you die we truly have no hope, you're the only heir we have and loosing you means the court dies too.”

“Excuse me what?” The both turn slightly to a Peter who's clearly confused.

Jordan looks back at Lydia. “You didn't tell him?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I was going to work up to it, telling him we're fae seemed like a big enough bombshell for this week.”

Peter crosses his arms and strides up to them. “I felt I took that one pretty well, and what is this you're not telling me now?”

Lydia sighs. “I'm not just fae Peter, I'm also the princess of the Winter Court.”

The sound that comes from Peter is hard to decipher. “This keeps getting more and more interesting. What about you?” He turns to Jordan. “Are you some prince?”

He won't laugh, but he does snort. “Hardly, just a lowly knight. We're getting off track.”

“Yes, self-defense. Though I don't see why I'm here.” Here Jordan would have thought Peter would complain more if he'd been left out.

“I was hoping you could play 'assailant' for the first few lessons.” Jordan might be taller by about two inches, but Peter outweighs Jordan by a good bit. “Later on I want to move on to tracking. Your senses probably give you as much or even more of an advantage as the trackers I know.” Everyone enjoyed being flattered right?

“Wonderful, I've always wanted to be a punching bag.”

Lydia looks unimpressed. “Like it'd bruise your ego any.”

Blight, maybe this is a bad idea, but he can't really back out now. Instead he steps between them. “We'll start simple: escaping a grip. Your hands Lydia.”

She heaves a small sigh, but offers up her hands. Grabbing them Jordan turns them so Peter can observe for the moment. He tightens his grip, though not enough to truly hurt. “I've got a hold of you, how are you going to escape?”

“Stomp on your foot with the heel of my shoe.”

He doesn't bother to hide his surprise, because that's actually a good answer. “Good response. But you're not wearing heels, and if you don't do it quickly enough your opponent will be able to dodge. Instead twist your wrists until you feel the ends of my fingers and yank down.”

She does so and he feels her wrists slip from his grasp. “Good, again.”

After a few more tries with him he had Peter step in and hold her. Then they moved on to grips on arms, or being grabbed from behind, and on. All of them methods that will work regardless of how strong her opponent is. Each time Jordan walked Lydia through each step. For now giving her the basic knowledge, he'll be having her practice every lesson they have until he's certain they're muscle memory.

They practice until lunch. Lydia's sweating, not profusely, but he hasn't been easy on her, and Peter seems interested.

Once inside again Lydia heads upstairs, Peter following her before Jordan can stop him **—** though honestly Jordan doesn't know _why_ he's trying to stop Peter **—** which brings the return of his earlier thoughts. Peter returns barely two minutes later looking vaguely insulted. “You'd think telling her she smelled good wouldn't get me kicked out.” He heads over to the fridge and pulls out a jug of orange juice, grabbing a glass from a nearby cupboard.

“I'm fairly certain sweating doesn't smell good.”

Peter silently offers the jug to Jordan who shakes his head, Peter shrugs and puts it away. “To you all with regular noses, but sweat's the best way to bring scent to the fore. Though I'm not lying, she _does_ smell divine.”

Granted part of the reason Jordan asked for Peter's help was because of his nose, but Jordan hadn't really thought out the full range of it. “What does she smell like?” Now that he  knows he finds he's curious for more.

A smile twitches at Peter's lips as he drinks his orange juice, clearly dragging this out. He sets his glass down and leans against the counter. “Like oleander, sweet, enticing and irresistible, with just a hint of snow. Though that one's harder to sniff out half the time.” He takes a quick drink. “In case you're wondering you smell like sap, leather, and winter. Unusual to say the least.”

“How?” To be honest, Jordan's asking more to make conversation than any desire to know the answer. “I mean, I didn't think there's anything all that special about the way someone smells.” He knows smell informs taste, but he's not sure that's what Peter means.

“A wolf can communicate a lot with a howl, but even more with their scent.” Peter gives a brief laugh before opening the fridge again to poke around, probably for food. “Your scent can tell me what you're feeling, if you’re sick or well, and what relates to the unusualness of _your_ scent _what_ you are.” After some rooting around he starts pulling out various things. “I know the difference between a werewolf, a werecoyote, or any number of other supernatural creatures, all from scent alone.”

Peter turns a little. “Scent also tells me where someone is.” It's said so pointedly that it _has_ to be directed at Lydia.

A second later Lydia steps out from around the corner, she doesn't look at all embarrassed. Her eyes fall on the small pile of food Peter's gotten out. “What are you doing?”

“Setting up for lunch.”

Lydia looks incredulous for a few moments. “You know what? I'm not even going to ask.” Jordan's not sure if the expression that crosses over Peter's face is angry or insulted. If Lydia notices it she doesn't react. “Jordan do you want something to drink?”

He shakes his head. “No I'm good.” Feeling awkward standing he takes one of the three stools at the island. The three of them fall into a comfortable sort of silence and he finds himself watching Peter, whose current actions have taken him aback a little considering he's being so...domestic.

Peter finishes the last of whatever preparations he's set on for lunch and a few moments later there's a cutting board full of meats, sliced cheeses and vegetables being placed on the island. Soon a bag of bread and a knife join it. Peter doesn't mention the obvious that it's sandwiches. Without waiting Peter begins assembling his own, and Jordan makes a little gesture for Lydia to go before him **—** he's not as hungry as she probably is. When Peter's finished he takes the stool next to Jordan's. “I thought you'd both like to know that I'll be headed out of town tomorrow for a few days.”

It's almost, but not quite, out of left field for Peter. “Why?” Jordan somehow manages to ask before Lydia.

Taking a bite out of his sandwich Peter chews as slowly as possible, clearly content to make them stew a little. “To get my money back,” he answers. “Derek knows. I'd rather the others not, if they even notice I've up and gone.”

The look Peter and Lydia share is definitely that of some inside joke. At the moment Jordan hardly feels excluded. “When can we expect you back?” Lydia finishes up her sandwich and goes to the fridge and grabs a soda can.

Peter shrugs. “Tuesday night at the latest I hope.” As Peter chews another bite he glances at the both of them in a fashion that's a little hard for Jordan to read. “If I get held up I'll call and let you know.”

Jordan'd been hoping they could do another lesson tomorrow.Perhaps he can convince Derek to join them or maybe he and Lydia can try to begin with her Winter powers. Either way it's a slightly annoying change of his inner plans. He's a big boy though and can deal with it.

Lydia moves her things to the stool on the other side of Peter. “Stay safe.” Jordan's not sure how best to describe the feeling that rises up inside him as he watches her rest a hand on Peter's arm.

Peter gains a vaguely amused air at her words. “You know me Lydia, why face danger when I can run away?”

She flushes in what's probably anger, but before she can speak Jordan stands. Going the long way round to the sandwich fixings he, self-consciously, runs a hand across both Peter and Lydia's backs **—** though he's not quite sure what he intends by that gesture. It seems to have surprised both Peter and Lydia into silently eating. After he's finished making his own half a sandwich he returns to his stool and impulsively nudges Peter's shoulder with his own. “It'd be nice if you didn't die.” The words feel a little heavy on his tongue, their...relationship is so new that expressing such sentiments seems strange.

Peter's lips twitch in a smile. “I'll do my best.”

—

“Thank you for doing that.” Peter says as Jordan turns the car onto Derek's street. He even means it, Lydia needs to know how to defend herself. Peter's fairly certain his own methods won't exactly work for her.

Jordan's ears turn an enticing pink. “It's no problem. I was planning on doing it anyways, but it was good to have you there for her to practice on. Especially since _all_ of her opponents are going to be heavier and bigger than her.”

Peter sometimes forgets that, a strange oversight he's not sure how to correct. “Regardless, it's good to know I'm not the only one looking out for her.”

This time the blush moves across Jordan's cheeks as well, and he focuses more than he should on turning into the empty parking lot in front of the loft. Before the engine even gets turned off Peter's unbuckled himself, eyes watching as Jordan does the same he tenses.

Before Jordan can grasp the handle to his door Peter's hands grab him and yank him over to sit on top of Peter. Not giving Jordan time to react to that one of Peter's hands slithers down to grasp the reclining lever and they're soon lying down. Jordan's sitting in his lap, his arms braced on Peter's shoulders, a wonderfully wide-eyed look on his face. “What?”

“I just thought.” Peter moves his hands to rest on Jordan's waist. “After being such a fine teacher today you deserved a little reward.” He grins.

While Jordan's pupils dilate dramatically his lovely fae scent grows more sappy, which Peter's fairly certain signifies arousal, though he'd find out soon enough. “Peter,” Jordan hisses. “We're in _public_.”

Peter pulls himself upright, forcing Jordan's elbows to bend, and noses the shell of his ear. “Oh I know.” He sets his teeth in Jordan's earlobe for a few seconds, giving it a brief tug. “I don't think I'd mind getting written up for public indecency if you were the one doing it _deputy_.”

The groan he gets in response sounds like it punched its way out of Jordan, and his hips grind against Peter's own. “Bl-blight you.” Peter feels inordinately pleased with himself, he's barely done anything and Jordan already sounds wrecked. “You're lucky, this isn't the squad, car.”

His grin returns. “I don't know Jor-dan. I think it'd be fun to fuck you in the back of a cruiser, or maybe I'll just sit and watch Lydia ride you.” He moves down to scrape his teeth against Jordan's thudding pulse. “I think that would be an interesting experience.” As if to prove how interesting he finds it Peter's grip on Jordan's waist tightens and pulls him forward, even through all the denim Peter can feel Jordan's hard cock rub against his own. Just like the last time Jordan bares his neck so easily that Peter nearly finds himself wolfing out. This time he manages to resist biting him. “Just relax.” He moves up to Jordan's ear again. “I'll hear any cars long before they get here.”

“You'd better,” Jordan grunts, blunted nails digging through Peter's shirt.

Deciding there's been enough talking Peter shifts his face over and kisses Jordan **—** a change from their previous encounter. Eagerly Jordan opens up, his tongue playing with Peter's in a way that's making Peter seriously hope he gives blowjobs **—** his tongue is too clever by half and it's been years for Peter.

It doesn't help that Jordan seems focused solely on kissing Peter to the exclusion of nearly everything else, barely even noticing that Peter's undone his belt and pants. Before Peter starts shoving everything down though he starts leaning back until they're both prone again. Despite the fact Jordan adjusts and goes with it, he hardly seems to notice their change in position. He'll certainly notice this. Peter shoves his jeans and underwear down enough to free both his cock and balls, then ever so slowly one of his hands wraps around said cock, rolling back the foreskin and rubbing his thumb pointedly against the slit.

With the expected abruptness Jordan breaks their kiss to throw his head back and whine. Peter's own hips jerk, gods above what a sound.

Unlike last time Peter decided to take his time with this one, pumping, twisting, and stroking every which way he knows how. Curious to hear what new sound he'll wrench from Jordan. Eventually Peter manages to turn Jordan into a sobbing mess **—** a fact he'll be smugly proud about for a good long while **—** his breath shuddering in Peter's ear. “ _Stars_ , please Peter–” whatever other entreaties he's going to make get cut off by a reedy moan as Peter gives in and tightening his grip just enough to make him orgasm.

Peter doesn't even care about the looks Derek will give him when he comes up smelling of sex and with semen soaked into his shirt. Not when the car smells so much of sap that Peter thinks they might have been dunked in it. He lets go of Jordan's shrinking cock as he slumps onto Peter's chest, breathing heavily.

A minute or two of only their breathing passes before Jordan shifts a little so he's looking Peter in the eye. “Rot, how do you _do_ that?”

The grin he gives in response would probably shame the Cheshire Cat. “Many years of practice.”

Jordan's breathing is still a little shuddery but he looks more determined than anything else at the moment. In fact Peter's about to ask what that's about, except Jordan answers by starting to slide down Peter's body until his face is right in front of Peter's cock. “Jordan...”

He looks up the line of Peter's body and Peter shudders a little, imagining what that flushed face would look like covered in semen. “What, do you not want a blowjob?” His tone full of faux dejection.

Peter manages to choke back his laughter. “Oh sweetheart.” His endearment for Lydia feels a little strange in address to Jordan too. He runs a hand through Jordan’s hair, gripping a hank of it and forcing Jordan’s head back even further. “Why would I ever want to stop you?”

It doesn’t seem possible but Jordan’s eyes dilate even further. When Peter lets go after what feels like a long, torturous minute Jordan’s fingers undo his pants so quickly it’s nearly a miracle. That oh so soft mouth traces the line of his cock through his boxers and Peter gives him a pleased sigh.

Seems to be all the encouragement Jordan needs. Without bothering to remove his boxers Jordan takes the head of his cock into his mouth and Peter finds his hand soon returning to Jordan’s hair. All too soon though that mouth is gone and Peter’s left with Jordan breathing heavily on the damp spot he’d just created. Nothing else keeps happening and Peter’s finding he’s not pleased with it. Once more he yanks on Jordan’s hair so they’re eye to eye again and it’s easy to let his eyes flare brighter blue. “If you don’t get on with it deputy you might not like the consequences.”

Barely a second of a whine escapes Jordan before he clamps his mouth shut, not happy with the sound. Though it’s illuminating for Peter and he finds himself giving what someone else would probably call an evil smile. “Oh, Jordan.” With his grip in Jordan’s hair he inexorably pushes his head back down to his groin. “You shouldn’t have.”

Jordan turns his head so his cheek’s resting on Peter’s cock. “I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out last time,” he doesn’t sound _un_ happy.

Peter releases his hold on Jordan’s hair and begins a soothing pet. “What? That you’re clearly a submissive in sex? I had a hunch.” He’s pleased it’s right, there’s so _much_ he wants to do to Jordan that more than a few of the men he’d been in relationships with had balked at. “You’re clearly not ashamed of it.” He means it more as a statement than anything else, but there’s a little bit of a question in it.

“It’s not like I’ve only had a decade to get used to the idea, so it’s nothing new to me.” He arches into Peter’s touch as the hand in his hair shifts down to stroke his cheek. “There have been some who thought I’d be the same in bed as I am with other things.”

Peter's lips twitch in a smile. “What like in the department?” He lets his thumb brush against Jordan’s cheekbone affectionately. “I like it. A secret only Lydia and I get to know.” He even means that. There’s a certain sort of pleasure in knowing something about a person that no one else does, especially when there’s no actual urge to try and get other people to know it. No, having this between him and Lydia is just the way he’d want it.

A small shiver passes through Jordan. “I thought you might.” A huff that might be laughter leaves him. “It’s nice to hear.”

While Peter knows it’s all nice and good to talk about these things, there’s a part of him getting impatient and wanting to get back on track. He decides to lead it back slowly though, or slowly for him. Easily he claws come out and he traces them over Jordan’s cheek briefly raising abstract designs in red before they vanish. Jordan shivers again, for an entirely different reason Peter’s sure. “You know Jordan,” Peter lets his voice drop into a rumble. “The longer you wait the more likely it is we’ll be caught. I thought you didn’t want that?”

In the confined space of the foot well Jordan tries to shift, it doesn’t exactly work out. Peter wonders if he’s gotten hard again. “ _Blight_.”

Peter thinks that’s enough talking from him, his hands leaves Jordan’s cheek to return to his hair, giving one more sharp tug. “Now, now Jordan. You’ve got a job to finish. It’s impolite to leave me hanging like this.” As if to prove his point he rolls his hips, rubbing Jordan’s cheek against his cock. Jordan groans and turns his head, placing his mouth once more right on the head of Peter's cock. One of his hands comes up and starts tugging down the waistband of Peter’s boxers, finally freeing him. Then without any hesitation Jordan swallows him down. Fuck if that isn’t sexy.

It doesn’t even bother him that a minute or so later he’s orgasming. He’s had worse blowjobs that’ve lasted longer. Lazily he watches as Jordan tongue bathes him clean **—** the parallel to last time doesn’t escape him **—** before shifting over to lay his head on Peter’s thigh. Absently Peter begins carding his fingers through Jordan’s hair, briefly they shift down to tug on Jordan’s ear. “Come back up here, I doubt it’s comfortable being crammed down there.”

Jordan nearly hums in assent and Peter goes about making himself mostly presentable as Jordan unfolds from the foot well. “You know if it meant anything I’d probably be complaining about achy joints,” his tone is wry.

A short laugh leaves Peter and runs a hand down Jordan’s back in mock consolation. “Poor Jordan.”

Which earns him an eyeroll as Jordan starts moving back over to his own seat. “You should probably head up before Derek wonder’s what’s keeping you.”

“Like it’s any of his business what I do,” Peter gives a haughty sniff. “Especially since I put up with Braeden basically living with us for a whole month.” He’s had to smell enough of Derek having sex that fair’s fair as far as he’s concerned. Choked laughter erupts from Jordan, drawing a twitch of a smile from Peter. On impulse he leans over and lays a peck on Jordan’s cheek. “I don’t have your number so I can’t call you but I’ll keep Lydia in the loop while I’m gone.”

Jordan nods. “Good luck with the money.”

Peter doesn’t respond, but gives a little head tilt as he climbs out of the car. After shutting the door he shoves his hands in his pockets and starts nonchalantly walking up the stairs. He’s got a lot to think about on the drive down to Sacramento.

—

Malia finds herself making an annoyed sound as she lets Lydia dislodge her again. She might have been enjoying this but it's not exactly where she wants to be. Granted this isn't what she'd been expecting when Lydia called her this morning and asked if she wanted to practice. Still Lydia's smile of triumph is infectious and Malia grins back at her.

“Good.” She's not sure how but she'd almost completely forgotten Parrish is there too. “Though I've been noticing you're not all here Malia.” He's not broadcasting annoyed in any way, but it gets her hackles up.

“Do I have to be? I'm not really doing all that much.” Which is the truth, in fact she's not sure why Lydia asked _her_ over, it feels like she could have done this just as easily with anyone else. She meets his gaze head on and feels a little flush of pride that he looks away first **—** though the way he does it in no way suggests submission.

He crosses his arms. “No. Being aware means you're less likely to accidentally hurt someone.” It's something she's heard Derek, even _Scott_ tell her before and hearing it a third time is about as fun as the first two.

Before she can apologize though Lydia's beside her smelling of exertion and flowers and an edge of cold. “What's wrong?”

Malia's been hoping someone who knew everything would ask her that for a while now. “It's just, Peter said we'd go find me mom. This seems like the perfect time to do it, except he's up and vanished and if he's gone to find my mom without me I'm going to strangle him.” Oh it feels so good to get that off her chest.

Lydia's hand comes to rest on her shoulder. “We've got school this week Malia, and Peter hasn't gone to try and find your mother without you.” Her certainty is assuring to Malia, though _how_ Lydia knows that Malia doesn't know.

Even though she growls a little she leans into the touch, not enough people touch her these days. “School's only a little interesting though. I wanna meet my mom Lydia.” That last bit sounds childish but Malia finds she doesn't care and instead pouts.

A small sigh leaves Lydia. “Peter'll be back Monday hopefully and you can nag him to your heart’s content then.”

“Until then.” Again with nearly forgetting Parrish is there. “Why don't I help you get some of that frustration out?” She turns and blinks at Parrish, because she's got a vague idea that he's not human, but she's still pretty sure she can hurt him.

For some reason he's taken his shoes and socks off, but other than that he doesn't look any different. The way he's carrying himself now suggests that he can take anything she can dish out and do it easy. “I'll hurt you.” She thinks it’s great what he's doing for Lydia and she doesn't want to injure him as a reward.

He gives a little laugh, and somehow she knows it's not _at_ her. “Malia, the day you hurt me seriously is the day I well...” He drifts off, apparently not sure how to finish that sentence.

Lydia gives a bright little laugh and shoves her lightly. “Go on, I could use a break anyways.”

“Loser gets tossed into the pool,” Jordan adds, like that's some sort of reward.

Then again, he's getting a little smug and she thinks it'd be great fun to toss _him_ into the pool, so maybe it is a reward. “You're on.” Since he's confident she won't hurt him she doesn't give him any warning before lunging, claws outstretched.

Parrish grins and easily spins out of the way, somehow grabbing her and pulling her with him. Like it's some weird dance. “Don't just charge because you can Malia, think a little before you act.”

A snarl, more playful than angry, escapes her and she shakes her hand free **—** she's had it done enough to her today that she thinks she manages the other end fairly well **—** and backs off a little. To give herself some time to think she starts circling him, and at least he’s smart enough not to show her his back. They keep that up for a few more turns, before she notices Jordan shift his weight in preparation to attack himself and she decides to pre-empt him. She doesn’t go claws first again, she’s realized doing that the first time _was_ a little stupid **—** because she actually could have hurt him **—** just her plain old fingers. She gets an arm around his waist and intends to use her strength to just push him into the pool.

Except she feels him get a hand on the waist of her jeans and once again they’re spinning. This time he lifts her off the ground and she’s flying.

The pool water’s kind of chilly but not horribly so and she quickly comes up sputtering, treading water as best she can.

Close by at the edge of the pool Jordan crouches down and offers her a hand. “Come on I’ll help you out.”

It’s really too perfect an opportunity to pass up. She gladly takes his hand, but before he can shift his weight to pull her up she yanks her arm back to her, pulling him headfirst into the pool.

She smiles triumphantly as Lydia laughs.

—

“Hey Lydia!” Mason's voice calls out from behind her. Overall surprised she turns to see him weaving through the crowd to get to her. Once they're face to face he pauses for a moment to catch his breath. “I...have a question.”

Part of her wants to wait to see if he'll tell her eventually, but she also knows the five minute bell is going to ring soon and she still needs to get to class. “What?” Hoping his class is in the same direction **—** she'd rather not make him late to his own class **—** she starts walking.

He catches on quick and jogs to catch up. “I was, uh, kind of hoping we could talk more, about the stuff?”

“You can say 'supernatural' Mason.” It's not like anyone in this school pays attention to stuff like that. Though how people can be so oblivious kind of frightens her. “Sure, what lunch do you have?” There are plenty of mostly-secluded spots where they can chat undisturbed outside.

“First. I was also kind of hoping you could help me figure out how to tell Liam I know.” He sounds so earnest it's kind of hard to say no to him.

“Let me guess you've been avoiding him all weekend?” She doesn't know Liam well enough to know how he'd react to that, but it hadn't been anywhere near happy she'd bet.

He gives a guilty nod. “I mean it's huge, and I'm a little hurt he didn't tell me himself, but I also get it...I think.”

Either he’s really good at hiding what he’s feeling or he really isn’t all that resentful. Then again if she’s reading it right he and Liam have been friends for a while, while she herself had only started relationships with everyone _after_ Scott had been bitten. She does understand where he’s coming from. “I’ve got first lunch too. Meet me in the cafeteria by the vending machines and then we’ll go somewhere we can talk.”

He nods and runs off to hopefully go to his own class, and she steps into her math class. Smiling at Malia and Kira she takes her seat, still thinking over lunch. She’s not sure about Liam, but she knows everyone else’ll have second lunch which is fine.

Though...not everyone she knows has second lunch...and it might be good for Mason to meet Danny.

—

Feeling a little nervous, Mason might be new to BHH but he still knows Lydia is one of the _popular_ people, he waits by the vending machines clutching his lunch bag. If you’d told him a week ago that knowing about the supernatural would be so nerve-wracking he’d probably have laughed. Only because he’d watched too much _Vampire Diaries_ and _Supernatural_ and the only thing stressful in those was hoping the characters figured out what was going on.

This is real life and even though there isn’t any sort of ‘big bad’ he still finds himself stressing out over the fact that his _best friend_ had been turned into a werewolf a few weeks ago and _hadn’t told him_ _ **—**_ although game night totally made more sense now. You’d think your best friend would tell you that.

“Mason!” He blinks and looks up and there’s Lydia. Who’s a little terrifying now that he knows she’ll totally go after someone bigger than her with a bat if she’s pissed off enough, being followed by a hot guy **—** on a personal level Mason isn’t really feeling it **—** he’s seen around before but can’t really recall his name.

Without conscious thought he finds himself straightening and stepping forward. “Hey.”

“Mason this is Danny, Danny this is Mason. Now come on.” He’s not the only one looking a little bewildered by Lydia’s brisk introduction as they head out of the cafeteria.

He finds himself blinking a little as they head straight outside. “Uh, hi.”

Danny’s lips twitch. “Hi. I’m just gonna apologize now, Lydia’s usually not this abrupt.”

“The introduction was as long as it needed to be Danny,” she sniffs. “We’ve only got a half an hour and who knows how long we’ll be.” The two of them share looks and jog after her **—** he didn’t think someone so short could move so fast.

Eventually they do stop, at the lacrosse field **—** well the woods next to the lacrosse field **—** and Lydia sits. “So Danny,” Lydia produces her own lunch bag from _somewhere_ and starts pulling out little containers. “Mason just found out about the supernatural last week and still hasn’t told his werewolf best friend that he knows.” _Wow_ , Lydia seems content to tell _everyone_. It’s not exactly what he expected.

“What? Are you asking me for advice?” Danny snorts. “If you’ll recall I didn’t tell my ex that I’d known he was a werewolf the whole time until _after_ he broke up with me and told me he was a werewolf.”

Mason allows himself a moment of gaping. “Did _everyone_ but me know?” If so he kind of wants to have words with the universe.

Lydia nearly chokes on a chip **—** and ok she’s not so scary after that **—** and Danny sniggers. “Oh wouldn’t that be a joke for the ten year reunion. ‘Hey McCall did you know we all knew about werewolves? We gave you an ‘A’ for effort though on the ‘trying to hide it’ front.’”

“No Mason.” Lydia gives him a nice smile. “Not everyone knows. Well and not everyone knows Danny knows.” She raises a finger to her lips, though it’s slightly ruined by a twitching lip. “If you can don’t go blabbing that.” He nods rapidly. Lydia doesn’t seem like the sort of girl you piss off and get away with it **—** see above statement about baseball bat **—** and he kind of likes her as a person and he’s pretty sure they bonded over the Berserker thing.

They briefly stop talking to eat, then Danny speaks up. “If you’re really looking for a suggestion, just tell him; hopefully without all the ‘I know what you are’ _Twilight_ bullshit.”

Which is great advice except for the lack of anxiety removal. “OK, but _how_?”

“Next time you two are hanging out just say, ‘hey Liam, I know you’re a werewolf’ and go back to whatever game you’re playing.” She pops a grape into her mouth. “Simple but effective. If that doesn’t work out for you I’m sure I could convince him you knew all along.” The smile that crosses her face is pure evil and if she were a guy there might be some inappropriate thoughts going on.

It’s not even directed at him and he still swallows convulsively. “How?”

She doesn’t answer for about a minute, content to let him stew. Either Danny doesn’t care or he already knows **—** which kind of not cool considering how out of the loop he’d been before. Finally thought she shrugs. “I don’t have an exact plan, but I’m pretty sure I could do it. I got an ex to watch _The Notebook_ about twenty times without him ever realizing I fucking hate that movie.”

Mason finds his sandwich more and more interesting by the second.

“Don’t forget most of the school still thinks you’re a bimbo.” Danny actually reaches over and prods her.

“Pfft, like that was hard.”

—

Since her mom started teaching again Lydia's used to getting home before her. When it gets closer to dinner time and she's still not back, Lydia finds herself worrying. She picks up her phone and is about to call Natalie when her mom comes in through the front door. “Lydia, I'm back! I brought dinner.”

Lydia's getting plates out when her mom comes into the kitchen, arms full of takeout bags. While she's relieved her mom is alright she still gives her a reproachful look. “You should've called to tell me you were going to be late.”

Natalie laughs as she takes out cartons. “I never took you for a worrywart Lydia.” Yes well last week she wasn't dealing with assassins trying to kill her. “I was at the real estate office talking with Rachel.”

A little part of Lydia sinks. She knows Rachel, their agent, has been trying to get mom to reduce the price on the lake house to make it more attractive to buyers, but so far mom's been holding out. “And?”

Mom gives her a big smile. “Someone made an offer! At asking price too.” Pleased surprise flashes through Lydia and she nearly drops the silverware she's holding. The fact that the lake house, with all it’s pain and suffering, is now someone else’s problem is a fantastic thought to have.

—

Tuesday after class Lydia pulls Malia aside. “Peter wanted you to know he’ll be waiting tomorrow after school to take you south to start looking for your mom. He said to pack for a few days.”

In response Malia finds herself grinning. “Great.”

“I’ll cover for you with your dad if you want, so you hopefully don’t get in too much trouble.”

She shrugs. “I don’t think he’d really care, but thanks.” She doesn’t mean it in a bad way, but dad didn’t really seem to care about her so long as she stayed out of trouble.

Lydia frowns a little. “I told Peter you two needed to be back before Monday for my party.” She shrugs. “We’ll see how that goes.”

Malia doesn’t quite understand why but apparently birthdays are important. Everyone had thrown one for her after they’d found out when her birthday was. The presents had been okay, but she’d much preferred gorging herself on the massive amount of food they’d had **—** if all birthdays were like that she could see the appeal. Though she has no idea what she might have to do as a _guest_ at a party. “What do I do?”

All she gets in response is a blink, then: “oh, do you mean at a birthday party?”

She nods.

“Next time be more precise with your question alright?” Lydia continues before she can answer though. “You go and have fun. You eat cake, dance, watch the birthday person open presents,” Lydia smiles a little. “Things like that.”

“Do you want anything?” Malia knows Lydia’s pretty and likes pretty things. Malia knows she’s attractive as well, but she doesn’t exactly think hers and Lydia’s tastes match up.

Lydia smiles softly and puts a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to get me anything unless you really want to Malia. As long as you put some thought and care into it I’m sure I’ll appreciate it.”

A warm feeling bubbles up in Malia’s chest. “Okay.” Without even thinking about it Malia leans in and hugs Lydia, pulling away and leaving before her friend really has any time to react. She trots over to her dad’s car and climbs in. “Hi dad.”

He looks like he didn’t shave again, but at least he doesn’t stink of alcohol. “How was school?” He mutters as he joins the line of cars leaving.

“Really good.” She leans her head against the window and smiles.

*

After school the next day Malia slings her bag over her shoulder, feeling like she can barely contain the eagerness bubbling up inside her **—** though she has no idea why she’d _want_ to contain it. She’s practically bouncing by the time she gets outside, finally, finally, _finally_ they’re looking for her mom. Like he’d promised Peter’s leaning against Derek’s SUV right in front of the steps, waiting for her. She takes the steps two at a time, smiling broadly when she’s right in front of him. “Come on, let’s go!”

He snorts, and she thinks she smells amusement but she could be wrong. “You can put your bag in the back.”

Opening the door she tosses her bag in, but before she can close it she hears Scott behind her. “Malia, what are you doing?” He sounds angry, and a little hurt.

She turns and crosses her arms. “Peter and I are going to find my mom Scott.” She would think that’s obvious, why else would she be leaving with Peter?

“Come on Malia.” Stiles steps closer to her. “There are other ways we can go about finding your mom.”

Turning back around she closes the back door and moves to the hood, putting Peter between her and them **—** they’re pack and she’s not going to fight them but she feels no shame in making Peter an easier target. “What other ways? Are these ‘other ways’ ones we can start _right now_?”

When she doesn’t get an answer it’s answer enough for her. She whirls around and strides off to the passenger door. “Come on Pete, let’s go.”

She finds herself biting back a smile as she hears Peter noisily exhale through his teeth. He doesn’t argue or protest and starts climbing into the car soon after she does. “I hope you’re prepared for a long drive,” he tells her as he pulls out of the lot. “Our destination isn’t exactly close.”

Like she really cares? Though being cooped up in a car for a long time might not be fun **—** see the trips to La Iglesia. “Where _are_ we going?”

“Death Valley.”

—

Scott wakes up with a choked gasp and tears in his eyes. Rolling over he buries his face in his pillow and lets himself cry, doing his best to muffle his sobs. Not because he thinks crying means he's weak and girly, but because he knows his mom worked another double shift and he doesn't want to wake her. Bits and fragments of his nightmare linger in the corners of his mind, taunting him.  _Allison being torn apart while evil laughter drowned out her screams_.

A shiver wracks him and his lungs start begging for air. He only turns his head just enough to breathe easy. He hasn't had a nightmare like that in months and he had forgotten how bad they could get. He tries to breathe steadily and evenly, hyperventilating won't do him any good right now.

Finally the tears subside and Scott has to figure out whether or not it's worth it to go back to sleep. On one hand he's had numerous lectures from his mom about the effects of sleep deprivation and how necessary a full night’s sleep is **—** especially on a school night **—** on the other the possibility of another horrifying nightmare. Rolling over he looks at his clock, _2 AM_ , sleep it is then. He flips the tear-stained pillow over and tries to get comfortable. Closing his eyes he tries to recall only happy memories, hoping it will be enough to stave off any future nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Feb 15: Meeting mothers, oh and Marrish.
> 
> You read that right folks, I’m gonna take a two week hiatus on posting so I can really dig in and get the beginning of this plot worked out. Doing it now will hopefully mean I won’t be panicked into doing it later.
> 
> In the mean time feel free to check out [We Conquer Death](http://weconquerdeath.tumblr.com/) the Tumblr for this wonderful OT3.
> 
> Also welcome to my headcanon of Lydia hating 'The Notebook'.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for being patient with me; I managed a _lot_ of writing these past two weeks and hopefully the posting schedule won't have to be paused again.

“Where were you?” Scott’s question as he sits in front of her pulls her away from enjoying her chai. With a sigh she puts it on the desk and gives him her attention, most definitely noticing Stiles taking up her left side. It’s probably _not_ to cut off her escape **—** though if she wanted to leave she’d have to go past Scott now **—** but after Jordan’s repeated mentions of her needing to run instead of fight it feels like it.

“Where was I when? Or would you like me to give you a place by place account of yesterday? Or is it today you’re asking about?” Despite her mild tone she manages a hint of reproach.

“After school when Malia left with Peter?” Stiles bites out, apparently not pleased with her nonchalance **—t** he feeling was mutual sometimes.

“I would have been heading home to do homework, or did you forget I’m aiming for early graduation?” Come September she plans on being at MIT no matter _what_ happens.

“We could have used your help talking Malia out of going with _him_ , she’s your friend and she listens to you.” From her perspective Scott’s tone is full of more censure than she deserves.

She affects the most bored tone she can **—** it’s not like she can get up and leave class unless she wants another absence on her record. “I don’t see what the problem is, I think meeting her mom will be good for her.” She really means that. No matter how much she would like to there are just some aspects of Malia Lydia _can’t_ relate to.

“The problem is Peter,” Scott ever-so-patiently reminds her.

“Yeah.” Stiles gets right up in her personal space. “Who’s still _evil_.”

Feeling no remorse about it Lydia shoves Stiles away as forcefully as she can. “So were you for about a week, you didn’t see me getting on your case when you and Malia were dating.” Her words apparently have more effect than her shove because Stiles recoils so much she thinks his might fall out the other side.

Hurt crawls over Scott’s face. “That’s not the same Lydia and you know it.”

“Yeah, Peter actually _killed_ people, including _Kate_.” Stiles hisses, and she doesn’t need super senses to know he’s angry **—** bully for him.

She shrugs. “Considering she might have been planning to kill me, I’m not going to get overly worked up about that. It sounded like neither of you tried all that hard to stop him at La Iglesia.”

The two of them flush. “How do you know about that?” She’s not sure how to feel about the shame in Scott’s voice.

“Malia.” Which is only half the truth since Peter had told her all about it first. Malia had just been a bonus fact check **—** besides a little ‘heroic’ exaggeration Peter’s recounting had been pretty spot on compared to Malia’s. “No if you’ll excuse me,” she stands up and collects her stuff. “I’d actually like to _focus_ on school.” She walks to the back of the classroom to bypass Scott before taking front and center on the first row **—** sure it means Mrs. Spencer would always pick her for the ‘surprise’ questions but she can deal with that.

—

Malia fiddles with the radio while Peter pays the ranger so they can get into the park. Though she doesn’t see why they couldn’t have just hiked in and gotten in free, and she tells him so. His scent goes a little strange in a way she can’t describe. “It took me a lot of time and effort to find out that the Desert Wolf comes here. It’s only polite to announce our presence.”

How paying to get in is announcing their presence she has no idea **—** and right now she kind of doesn’t care. “What’s the plan then?”

Peter shrugs as he turns onto a different paved road. “There isn’t really a ‘plan’ per se. I’d thought we’d just drive around, stop at a lot of public places, and hope that your mother finds us.”

“What?” She gapes at him. “That’s not a plan.”

He growls, more warning than anything. “I just told you it wasn’t. It’s not like I can go up to strangers and describe her Malia. Even if I remembered what she looked like most of the people here are tourists, and Death Valley’s a _very_ big place.”

With a huff she crosses her arms and slumps into her seat as he pulls into the parking lot of what looks like a store of some sort. “This is a shitty idea, I thought you came up with _good_ ideas.”

He laughs though she’s not sure if it’s good or not. “Unless you’ve got a better one it’s what we’ve got. I might not remember her but I think it’s a safe bet that she’ll remember _me_.” His voice goes strange, kind of like Stiles sometimes when he made those weird jokes. “Now come on, I don’t know about you but I’m hungry.” He climbs out of the car and starts heading towards the store.

After a few seconds she heaves an annoyed sigh and follows.

—

Lydia's far too relieved that the past week as been so very boring, and now she's got all of spring break to relax and make time for Jordan and Peter **—** and maybe even both. She doesn't even mind that Jordan's probably going to have her do more self-defense, maybe she can ask him about working more on glamours. Tossing her bag into the passenger seat she starts planning how best to finish all her homework **—**

**—** blinking she looks around finding herself in the in the clearing where the Hale house used to be, far too close to the hole that is the former basement for her own comfort. That doesn’t matter to the barely audible whispers that fill her ears though.

Something cold comes up from behind, soon accompanied by footsteps. “Lydia?” Despite all that Jordan’s voice right behind her still makes her jump a little, heart racing. The whispers are gone now and she turns to find him standing close, the late afternoon sun picking out bits of gold in his dark hair. “Are you okay?”

Unsure of how best to answer that she shrugs. “How did you find me?”

He takes the steps towards her and after a moment's hesitation pulls her into a hug. “I called you to see if you wanted to do some training today, but you never answered your phone so I reached out and tried to feel where you were.” A few weeks ago she would have found that strange and a little disturbing. He gives a little shrug. “I've kind of always been good at finding people.”

“I don't know why I'm here,” she admits. She hasn't been anywhere near here since Peter's resurrection. “I just...blacked out again at school and next thing I knew I was here.” Again she's grown so used to it that it doesn't even phase her anymore, though it really should.

Jordan doesn't loosen his hold on her but he does shift them around so if they want to they can look over the still charred basement. Looking up at him through her eyelashes she notices that he’s doing just that, though at the moment she's content to bury her face in the leather of his jacket. “How did Peter survive?”

She's sure that question wasn't actually directed at her, but she still knows the answer. “In a way he didn't. He was different before the fire.” _“_ _We're both here for something, we don't have to be ashamed of it.”_ Shaking off the memory she slides her hands under his jacket making him jump a little. “Can, can we go somewhere else? I don't want to be here.” When the husk of a house stood this place had been sad, now that that's gone this place is just...empty.

“Yeah, sure.” This time he lets go of her as he shifts around, an arm quickly going back around her shoulder as he guides her away. “Do you have any place in mind?”

Shaking her head she pulls away and veers off towards her own car.

Only to have Jordan jog after her. “Look, uh, I know this'll be sudden, but do you want to meet your mother?”

The question catches her off guard. “How?”

He gives a wry smile. “Magic?” His tone suggests he might be goading her, though to what end she has no idea.

Rolling her eyes she opens her door putting a barrier of sorts between them. “Either you're being obtuse or silly. I don't know which is worse.”

A snigger leaves him and in another surprise he ducks down and lays a brief kiss to the corner of her mouth. “If you come over to my house all will be revealed.”

 _Well_ , she hopes he means that double entendre. The thought of having sex with him is something she doesn't think she'll be able to get out of her mind anytime soon **—** not that she wants to honestly. Grabbing the top of the door she uses it to half-hoist herself higher so they can have a proper kiss. Regardless of the vague unpleasantness her mode of leverage brings her. When she pulls away he looks a little stunned, which makes her smile. “Alright. I'll see you there soon.” Without waiting for a response she climbs into her car and soon drives off.

Jordan quickly follows after though, his car in her rearview the entire drive to the byway, were he passes her.  _B_ _rat_.

Even though her last trip to Jordan's house had been done in a vague haze of banshee-ness she still manages to remember the general way and soon she pulls into his driveway, smiling a little when she sees him waiting for her on his front porch. Once on his porch she impulsively reaches out and takes his hand in her own. For a moment all he does is stare dumbly at their joined hands, again she rolls her eyes and gives their hands a shake. “Are we going in? Or just stand out here?”

He blinks and shakes his head. “Oh, yeah.” Instead of opening the door though and leading her in he uses her hold on his hand to pull her closer and kisses her, a real honest to God make out session. She's not going to complain one bit. Letting go of his hand she wraps her own around his neck before they slide up into his hair, happily thrusting her tongue into his mouth to play with his. As if in retaliation his hands shift down to her waist and hoists her up, changing the angle.

When they break apart she rests her forehead on his cheek. “We should go inside, before someone decides we're prime gossip material.”

Briefly she feels him nuzzle her hair **—** which is such a Peter-ish thing to do that it surprises her **.** “Yeah.” She thinks they're both a little sad when he sets her back down.

Once they're inside she's reminded of how _bare_ his place is. The living room they come in on is nothing but a small table by the door, a couch, two bookcases **—** only half full of books **—** a TV, and a coffee table. That's it. She _is_ curious as to why, but in the face of possibly meeting her mother his lack of interior decorating falls short.

She jumps a little when he grabs her hand again and willingly follows as he heads up stairs. Much like the living room the hallway they enter is bare, save for the four wooden doors. They go to the door on the far right and Jordan opens it with a flourish. While most of Jordan's house had clearly lacked the sort of personal touches that would have made it a home, his bedroom overflows with them.

The walls are a dark dove gray, accented by wooden furnishings a few shades lighter. Besides paint, the walls themselves are bare of objects. Unless you counted the old, large mirror leaning against the wall next to what must be his dresser, the top of which is cluttered with knick-nacks. The most prominent of which is a glass vase full of old birch branches, echoing the pattern on the duvet.

The bed itself is almost laughably large, taking up most of the room. The carved headboard alone takes up half the wall it's against and draws the eye with its intricacy. There are so many pillows and the bed itself looks so soft that it seems more like the bed of a sybarite or a hedonist than a knight.

She slips her shoes off, feet sinking into the fluffy carpet, watching as Jordan heads for the mirror. “Uh.” He flushes a little. “Take a seat?” She doesn't hesitate in walking over to the bed and climbing **—** why does his bed have to be tall? **—** into it. When she finally sits she does sink into it, if not as far as she thought she might. It's very comfy and she can't wait to fall asleep in it at some point.

“So.” She starts a little and turns her attention back to Jordan. “Because of the way this spell works you won't actually be able to see your mother, but you'll both be able to hear each other.”

There's something humorous about a mirror that won't let you see, but you can hear through. Still she nods. “Alright.”

A hiss of surprise escapes her when he pulls out a knife and pricks his thumb, smearing the blood against the mirror itself. He leans in and breathes on the glass, whispering something that she can't quite hear.

At first nothing happens. Then the room fills with the sound of crackling ice, followed by a voice that sounds utterly foreign, though Lydia can’t explain _why_ that is. “You are early this week Erwann, I hope nothing has happened?” With those words though something in Jordan changes and he truly is Erwann **—** an eerie thought. He gives a short bow, which means her mother **—** an unpleasant shiver wracks her **—** could see him, though from the angle of the mirror it's highly unlikely she could see anything of the bed.

“No Your Majesty. Or, nothing bad or disastrous has happened. It is just that your daughter wished to speak with you.” He turns and gives a little gesture to Lydia, intending her to speak.

Except that it feels like the words have dried up in her throat, she shakes her head and looks away.

“Excuse me a moment Majesty.” Faintly she can hear him come over to her and she doesn't fight when he takes her hands in his own. “Lydia?”

“I don't know what to say.” It's a simple conversation, it shouldn't be tripping her up like this. She's faced far worse at school and come out on top easily, so this should be just as easy.

He cups her cheeks with his hands, tilting her head up enough that she's looking him in the eye. “Why do we go over and you can start with 'hello'. That sound good?” He looks content to wait there all day for her answer, despite the fact that her mother is waiting.

She nods and takes a deep, steadying breath. “”I think, no, I _can_ do that.”

He smiles broadly at her. “Wonderful.” He lets go of her face and takes a step back, still holding out one of his hands in offering.

Sliding off the bed in her skirt is awkward at best, but he doesn't even comment on it as she takes his hand and he ceremoniously leads her to the mirror. Though if neither she nor her mother can see each other all that ceremony might be a smidgen pointless. She'll let him have it though.

“Apologies for the wait your Majesty, and I am pleased to introduce to you your daughter, Lydia Martin. Lydia, this is your mother,” **—** he pauses for a moment as if uncertain of something **—** “Morana, Queen of the Winter court.”

Lydia nearly curtsies, then realizes it doesn't matter. “Hello.”

There’s silence from the other ‘end’, Lydia guesses, of the mirror. “Erwann,” something in her... _mother’s_ voice breaks in a way Lydia knows well. “Leave us.”

He gives a short bow. “Your Majesty.” He squeezes Lydia’s hand before letting go and walking out of the room.

Again silence fills the room for a short while, a heavy sigh from the mirror breaking it **—** something in her desperately yearns to _see_ her mother herself. “Oh my dear sweet Diantha.” Morana’s, _mother’s_ , _Morana’s_ _ **—**_ Lydia wraps her arms around herself **—** voice goes soft and Lydia feels her insides twist.

“What did you call me?” It seems pointless to try and conceal the shock in her voice.

Even though it’s muffled Lydia still hears a ragged and sharp inhale. “Diantha,” this time when her mother says it it sounds like a prayer. “it’s the name your father and I were going to give you on your naming day, had we the chance.” Since she can’t see her mother it’s only a guess, but she thinks the woman might be crying.

She quickly blinks back her own tears. “My father?” While Jordan had spoken a little on her mother, he hasn’t said a thing about her father and she finds herself curious.

The grating scrape of a chair across stone reaches Lydia from the other end, quickly followed by rapid footsteps and then a crashing sound that has Lydia jumping. This time the silence lasts long enough that she thinks the ‘call’ was ‘lost’, but then she hears another ragged breath. “Your father is dead dearest, he died trying to protect you.”

Lydia lets herself sink to the floor, and takes a few ragged breaths of her own. “Oh,” she sounds tiny and broken. There’s a part of her demanding she get back up on her feet and not speak until she sounds like herself again.

“Perhaps there is a chance we may see each other soon? I dare say you will have changed greatly since I last laid eyes on you.” Despite the sadness in her voice there’s also a thread of bleak humor that makes Lydia’s lips twitch.

“My birthday is next week,” it bursts out without thought. “On Monday.” Though now Lydia finds herself wondering if that truly _is_ her birthday. “Maybe you could come to my party?” Despite her outburst she finishes almost shyly.

“I would very much like that Diantha...or should I be calling you Lydia?”

She...doesn’t actually know. “Which, whichever you prefer.”

“I will do my best to be there Lydia. I can make no promises as to the length of our visit.” Morana-mother sighs. “Our court is always busy no matter the season.” Lydia hears a knock, and she starts to turn thinking it’s Jordan, but then mother-Morana sighs. “And there it is. I will see you soon dearest, and behold you with my own eyes. Take care of yourself, and...” She drifts off, and Lydia finds herself biting her tongue to keep from speaking. “I believe I still love you.”

Lydia’s throat clogs up and she can’t answer, not before she once again hears the sound of crackling ice. Fairly certain she’s alone Lydia buries her face in her knees and lets herself cry. For a little while, then she blinks back the tears and stands up.

Going to the door she leans her forehead against it. “Jordan?”

The sounds of him moving, then footsteps. “Yes Lydia?”

“Can, can I be alone for a while?” It feels a little strange asking, but this is his bedroom and it only feels polite.

“Yeah.” She hears him move around briefly. “I’ll be in the study, the door on the left on the other side of the hall, when you want me.” He walks off again.

After taking a few breaths she moves from the door back to the bed, climbing back onto it she lays on her back and just stares at the abstract pattern in the ceiling plaster. Eventually though she can’t hold it in anymore. “They were going to name you Diantha.”

—

Restlessly Jordan sits at his desk and fiddles with the bonsai tree he’s pulled in front of him. Between his fingers the branches grow pliant and go exactly where he wants them too. Not that he’s paying much attention to what his fingers are actually doing.

 _Fucking hell_ , the roiling in his gut insists that he barge into his room and scoop Lydia up into a hug, hold her to him and not let go anytime soon. He can’t. She asked to be alone and he needs to respect that. So he’ll sit, and fiddle with his bonsai until she comes back to him. He won’t check a clock, or his phone, or the position of the sun in the sky, he’ll just wait and let her have all the time she needs. He pushes himself to actually focus on the tree, to try and turn it into some new shape. He’s done it often enough to this tree that it’s all but given up doing what _it_ wants. He’d feel bad for it, except his way doesn’t include shears and wires.

By the time there’s a faint knock on the doorway, he’s half turned it into a wolf topiary **—** which had the added bonus of burning off some of his restless energy. He looks up to see Lydia, a little red-eyed and pale.

He abandons the tree and goes over to her. He doesn’t pull her into a hug like he wanted to earlier, but he does open his arms enough to tell her he’s willing to do so if she wants it. Barely a second later she’s clinging to him. She doesn’t start to cry again **—** if he had a guess he’d say she’d probably cried herself dry already **—** but she does hold him tight enough that he’s worried. Wrapping his arms around her gently he starts running a hand over her hair. “Hey, you alright?”

A quiet, shuddering laugh leaves her. “I think I will be.”

He frowns down on her even though she can’t see it. “That’s not exactly an answer to my question Lydia.” None of him likes that, but right now he _needs_ to know she’s okay...enough.

She sighs softly into his shirt. “I’m okay, I guess. It’s kind of hard to quantify.” Which isn’t hard to believe at all.

The hand stroking her hair gets woven into said hair, letting him massage her head lightly. She slumps into him. “If you don’t mind me asking how’d it go?” If she says to he’ll back off, but he’s at least going to _try_ and ask.

“Well enough, at least I think so. We talked about me, my dad, hopefully being able to meet on Monday.” She gives a little shrug. “I still don’t know how to feel about it.”

He shifts the hand in her hair around to cup her cheek. “I’m not exactly expecting you to. Anything special about Monday?” He knows that it’s technically spring break for her, but at the moment Monday seems arbitrary.

A blush appears to be spreading across her cheeks from what little he can see. “It’s my birthday, I think.” She pulls away from him enough to meet his gaze. “It’s the birthday I always thought I had, but since well, everything, I’ve kind of realized it might not be? I didn’t think to ask...my mother, do you know?”

His ears heat a little, “Not exactly.” He tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “I mean I remember the announcement of your birth, and that we all got _very_ drunk in celebration. It wasn’t like I paid any close attention to the date. Then, well, a week or so later you were gone and the king was dead, and we had other things to focus on.” Part of him is slightly ashamed that he can’t answer that question for her, but it’s what happened. “I hope I’m invited.” His tone is teasing in the hopes of lightening the mood.

It does get the barest twitch of a smile from her. “Of course you are.”

He gives her a bigger one in response. “That’s good.” Partly in trying to prevent a crick in his neck, but mostly just because he could now, he reaches down and scoops her up. She gives a quiet yelp in response and she instinctively wraps her legs around his waist to anchor herself. Leaning in a little he bumps his nose against hers in a vaguely playful manner. “What would you like?”

She glances away, only to bury her face in his shoulder. “You don’t _have_ to get me anything Jordan.”

Turning his head a little he nuzzles at her, a half formed thought that it’s probably something Peter does often forms in his head, in an attempt at comfort. “Hey, even if we haven’t done much in the way of couple stuff, we’re together right? I _want_ to get you something, especially for your birthday.” Now that he knows Lydia’s is coming up he finds he kind of wants to know when Peter’s is as well.

Surprising him a little she returns the nuzzle. “Maybe some jewelry pieces for my hair then,” she says shyly.

She has been wearing her hair up more often he’s noticed, in all sorts of pretty, complicated looking fashions. Ones that he finds he wants to take his time undoing. In fact he’s kind of sad that her hair isn’t up today, he feels it might be calming for the both of them for her to just sit on his lap while he gently undoes her hair.

Turning a little further he lays a brief kiss on her temple. “I can do that.” One of the court jewelers owes him a favor. Definitely silver for the metal, though he’d have to think further on the rest. He shifts his grip a little, not at all failing to notice how good her ass feels in his hands. “Do you want to lie down and cuddle for a bit? Maybe watch a movie?” Despite what his earlier words might have implied he doesn’t care that they haven’t done much together. Not that he wouldn’t love to, but he’s more than happy to let her set the pace, especially after what happened.

To his utter shock she lifts her head up and kisses him. It’s not like their earlier kisses either, soft and playful, no, this one claiming and more than a little wild. Maybe when they stop he’ll voice some protest, but at the moment all he can do is submit.

When they break apart they’re both breathing heavily. “Right now I want to be back in your room Jordan, I don’t really care what happens after that.”

He...he can do that. Somehow he manages to walk to his room, even with her nibbling on his jaw. Using a foot he closes the door behind them and strides over to his bed, only to drop her in it. She yelps again, and even bounces a little; but afterwards she looks like she belongs in his bed. Her tiny frame almost swamped by the duvet alone. It’s enough to leave him a little stunned. Her mouth curls into a smile. “I'm only going to bite hard if you want me to.”

He’s not sure if she says it because she thinks he’s hesitating or not, but he doesn’t much care and he finds himself smiling in response. He very much so wants her to bite him. Even though he's only had a few lovers he's always had a good understanding of what he likes and enjoys. Kicking off his shoes he gets on the bed and crawls over her, leaning down enough to give her a kiss. She responds enthusiastically and he can feel her hands weave their ways into his hair, tugging him down a little further and preventing him from moving away.

His own part of the kiss turns more ardent at her actions and he finds himself lowering his body to press against her, showing her how much he's enjoying it. She laughs and it dances down his throat delightfully. She arches up into him, finally breaking their kissing to throw her head back and gasp. That tiny sound drives him to her neck to try and elicit another such response. Get them he does, little sighs and quiet moans. Her quietness is amazing to him, so unlike his own...vocal mode. His hands reach the hem of her dress and teases it up, loving the silky feel of her skin.

Lydia gives an encouraging wiggle at his actions, wrapping her legs around his own and pressing herself closer to him and encouraging him to strengthen his assault. Until she pulls away with a grimace and curls up a little on herself. “Lydia? What’s wrong?” He prays it isn’t something he did accidentally.

She manages a weak smile. “I’m fine, it’s just.” She winces. “It’s just cramps.” Her hands press down on her belly as if that will help ease the pain that's apparently there.

 _Cramps? ...Oh._ “Is there anything I can do?” That sort of pain isn’t exactly fun he's sure.

“You probably don’t have any midol, but I’ll survive until I get home. Looks like I’ll have to take a rain check on sex.” She sounds annoyed and pained.

He gives her a quizzical look. “Rain check?” He might not have midol, but he does have something he thinks might be just as effective.

Lydia flushes down to the neckline of her dress. “A bleeding vagina isn’t exactly sexy fun times.”

Leaning down a little he gives her a quick kiss. “It just means we have to be very careful.” Blood doesn't bother him at all. It's not like it's anything new to him. Her flush deepens. “Now stay right there and I’ll be back.” Getting out of bed he leaves his room and jogs down to the kitchen where he starts boiling a pot of water, tossing in the usual herbs and plants he steeps when he’s in extreme pain. While that steeps he goes in search of a comfortable towel he doesn’t mind getting stained.

Strained tisane in one hand and towel in the other he returns to the bedroom. Lydia hasn’t left the bed, but she’s curled herself up into a ball on top of it, not enjoying herself. Laying the towel down on the duvet he climbs back onto the bed. “Hey.” She uncurls a little but doesn’t turn to face him. With one hand he unzips the back of her dress, he might as well do it now, while the other offers her the mug. “Drink this, it should help.”

She turns over, sitting up a little so she can take the mug from him. She gives a sniff. “What is it?”

“It’s a tisane.” He shrugs. “There’s chamomile, a little lavender, and...” he drifts off a little not really sure how best to explain the fact the main ingredients are foxglove and black nightshade. “It’s good for pain.” He finishes a little lamely. If she notices his pause that she doesn’t mention it, just takes a sip from her mug; surprise flits across her face, most likely from the fact that the tisane’s not scalding hot. He gives her an encouraging smile and starts taking off his clothes.

She arches an eyebrow and leans back a little as if to get a better view. He waggles his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, eliciting a laugh from her. “You’re incorrigible.”

He grins as he tosses his socks, leaving him in nothing but his boxer-briefs. “How do you feel?” He's not expecting her to feel instantly better, but the tisane should be affecting her a little already.

Raising the mug to her lips again she shrugs. “It only feels like I'm being kicked in the gut instead of someone playing around with my insides with a hot poker. Which I guess is an improvement.”

Cautiously he climbs back into bed, crawling forward until he's caging her in. He watches her eyelids flutter shut as he leans down to kiss her once more. She pouts when he pulls away and he darts in to kiss the tip of her nose. “Finish drinking the tisane and we can start again.” The sigh she gives him in response is highly exaggerated, enough so that his lips twitch in another grin, but she sits up a little more and continues drinking. He has a brief flash of fear that she'll gulp it all down to get it finished, but she takes her time drinking it.

As she does so he shifts to kneeling between her now slightly spread legs, on hand moving to begin brushing gently against the inside of her knee. Her leg twitches and she gives a short giggle into her mug. He keeps on like that, content to wait and watch her as she finishes the mug and sets it on the little table that serves as his nightstand. “All done,” she assures him, a smile toying at her lips.

Bracing his arms on either side of her waist he leans in and kisses her again, enjoying the soft feel of her lips and the way she thrusts her own tongue into his mouth. He finds himself smiling as they continue to kiss. The idea of being able to do this with her for centuries to come a pleasing one. Pulling away a little, and not at all surprised that she tries to follow, he shifts towards her ear. “I'm going to go slow to give the tisane time to work alright?”

“Alright,” she agrees, arching towards him in a way that presents her neck wonderfully. Why resist? Tenderly he lays kisses down it pinkening the skin, but nothing harder than that. He doesn't fight it when she laces her fingers through his hair again. He does resist when she tries to press his head closer, probably in an attempt to get him to leave a hickey. She shudders as he keeps up his gentle assault, but it just drives him on nuzzling her collarbone before briefly scraping his teeth against it. She lets out a small sigh and slumps a little against the headboard. “You good?” He pulls away a little so he can glance up at her.

“Yeah, pain's only a throb now,” she sounds suitably happy about that.

Pulling away even further he reaches out and takes the shoulders of her dress in his hands. “May I?”

Her lips twitch in a smile. “Sure, though you don't need to ask.”

Doesn't mean he won’t. In increments he begins pulling the arms of her dress down her arms, stopping when her breasts **—** covered in pale pink silk **—** are revealed. “Pretty,” he murmurs reverently. More than a little pleased when his words cause her to blush.

He soon returns to his nuzzling, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin as he drifted down to her breasts. Here he let himself nibble more, enjoying every quiet sound he gets from her. Momentarily her grip tightens, “Jordan, _please_.”

In a soothing manner he rubs his lips against her redened skin. “Please what?” While he's got a good idea of what she's wants him to do, he wants to know what she'll say.

A brief groan escapes her. “Stop teasing, Christ you and Peter both.”

Instead of the expected flare of jealousy at the mention of Peter he finds himself burying his face in her cleavage to muffle his laughter. When he's mostly gotten control of himself he pulls away enough to speak unhindered. “There's nothing wrong with wanting to take my time. It's our first time together, I want it to be memorable.” He smiles.

Lydia flushes, all the way down to her breasts. “I'm pretty sure I'll remember this Erwann,” dry amusement's good on her. The use of his name is delightfully shocking and he sharply tugs down the one of the cups of her bra far enough to expose her nipple taking it into his mouth. “Yes,” she hisses, arching into him. Her hands let go of his hair and briefly he sees them shift to her back, clearly to undo her bra which as expected soon sags. He pulls away again and together they slide it off her; he dives in to lavish attention to her other breast while his hands push down her dress further.

He gets it all the way down to her waist before stopping, fingers encountering something he didn't expect. Lydia gives a short whimper and arches up again, trying to encourage him to continue, but instead he pulls away completely. Looking down to see the scars his right hand were resting on. Even without his looking he could tell that the four gashes were deep, and while they looked fairly clean they'd probably been pretty painful when she'd first gotten them. He nearly demands to know where she got them, but decides a less forceful approach might be best. “Lydia?”

She sighs, her arms cross, as if to cover herself, and she lifts her hips up a little, clearly encouraging him to take off her dress the rest of the way. A little warily he does, but half formed fears are waylaid when she only shifts onto her side a little to give him a better look. “They're...they're from Peter.” She won't meet his gaze and he's pretty sure that's not good.

At her words he finds himself hesitating, before steeling himself and truly touching them. Despite the deepness they've well and truly healed over, meaning they hadn't been made recently. Somehow it's _that_ that sparks the memory of her curled up next to him and telling him about everything that had happened to her. Leaning in again he lays a brief kiss on her belly. “You okay?”

It's true he'd known about the attack that must have been the cause of these scars already, and even thanked Peter for doing so, but the scars get to him in a way mere words didn't. He can't even imagine what she might be experiencing right now. He finds it tears him up even more over Peter, should he hate the man for harming Lydia in such a way? Forgive him because without it Lydia would still be lost? Never bring it up?

“I'll be alright, they're just a part of me now. Proof that I survived.” She sounds proud of that, as she should be.

Sliding down a little he nuzzles at the topmost scar. “Want me to tell you a not-so-secret?”

“Hmmm?” One of her hands drifts down and pats the back of his neck, and for a moment he kind of loses track of everything. “Jordan?” Lydia's amused voice pulls him out of his euphoria.

He nuzzles at her scar again to give him time to try and collect his thoughts. “Oh, yes. “ She arches and sighs in what sounds like pleasure as he noses further down the scratches. “You know if you wait a decade or two, these'll be completely gone.” Gone the way of nearly every other fae scar **—** iron made ones were the usual exception.

“Oohhh.” Her simple expression of either surprise or disbelief gets drawn out when he lightly scrapes his teeth against the skin just next to the scars.

As he lays kisses on her belly he makes a sound of agreement and lets his hands drift up to her thighs to the waistband of her panties. He's not sure whether it's to tease her or him, but his pulls them down her legs ever so slowly, content to take his time. With them gone she's naked before him, and what a beautiful sight she is. Blindly reaching out he snags the towel he'd brought, while his other hand grabs one of her ankles and encourages her to scoot down a little. “Hips up please,” he asks as he unfolds the towel. She does so and soon it's underneath her, ready to catch what blood might escape.

Quickly he returns to his previous position, moving his head so he can nibble on the arch of a hip. He finds she’s not the only one getting eager for things to move on. So he keeps his teasing to a minimum as he begins to work his way closer and closer to the junction of her thighs.

She gives a little sigh and spreads them wide, unashamedly revealing herself to him.

Unable to hold back any longer he dips his head down and licks a broad strip from her anus to her cilt, he barely hears her soft moan over the explosions in his mind over her sweet taste. Gods and stars above but it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted and he _needs_ to have more.

He feels her fingers in his hair once more as he begins eating her out in earnest, covetously taking every drop of that delectable sweetness he can. Normally he pays more attention to his lover’s reactions than he is with Lydia’s, but her sounds barely register in the face of his current task. His hands move in, spreading the lips of her vulva to give him better access.

It doesn’t even bother him when he begins to get a musty tang in the sweetness, in fact the contrast only enhances the taste.

Lydia’s grip on his hair goes painfully tight, and she’s orgasming around him. He takes in all that he can, gulping it all down. When her grips loosens he pulls away, but only enough to nose at her inner thigh briefly before _very_ gently biting the skin there. She jumps in surprise and gives him the briefest of whimpers **—** he thinks he might have given her a secondary orgasm.

He pulls away completely, and having no idea what his face looks like at the moment decides to be polite and as discreetly as possible wipes his face off on the towel. That done he shifts up to rest his head on her belly, more than content to wait for her to come back down.

Eventually she shifts a little and he looks up to see her staring down at him oddly. “What?” He sounds a bit more indignant that he intended, but he’ll have to live with it.

“Nothing, I’d just thought you’d be driving yourself in me by now.”

Oh, is that all? Tilting his head a little he gives her belly a peck. “Do you want me to?” He does have an erection that’s insisting he do _something_ , but he can just as easily get off jacking off as inside her. “Though, I, uh, might not have any condoms.” He can’t catch any of the human STIs and he doesn’t have any of the fae ones, but he knows that she'd probably get pregnant. So he’ll leave it up to her whether or not it happens.

She shakes her head. “Um.” Blushes a little. “No sex then. Though,” she glances away. “I might watch if you got yourself off.”

Even though he bite the inside of his bottom lip he still smiles into her skin. “I could do that.” Rising up to his hands and knees he moves over beside her, positioning himself on his side.

He finds himself very much aware of her gaze as he pushes down his underwear enough to free his cock. He can nearly _feel_ her gaze as it zeros in there. He’s pretty sure he’d be blushing if he wasn’t so focused on the hand he’s just wrapped around himself. As he slides his hand up and down the first time he realizes his fingers still have some of her slick on them, making everything go more smoothly. A grunt escapes him at the sensation and he finds himself closing his eyes.

Which doesn’t stop him from hearing or feeling Lydia shift a little closer. “You know,” her voice is basically in his ear and it makes him shudder. “I’d love to see Peter do this to you, he can be quite clever with his fingers when he wants to.”

Her words bring up the memories of just that thing happening and he finds his grip tightening a little as he speeds up. “He...already...has.” He doesn’t mean to say it, but is there really a right time for that? “Twice,” which turns into a moan as he rolls back his foreskin enough to play with his slit.

Even though his eyes are close, he can picture her own glittering in interest. “Oh has he? Well,” he twitches when her cool hand joins his. She shifts a little closer and when she bites his ear a tiny whimper escapes him. “Tell me all about it.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” it comes out half a grunt when her thumb starts rubbing the underside of his head.

Lydia laughs low and sweet in his ear. “Tell me Erwann,” her commanding tone has his hips shudder and jerk. Gods, she isn’t even trying and still he’s going to jump.

So he does, in as much detail as he can; or at least until his oncoming orgasm starts making him incoherent. When it’s over he feels boneless, and is pretty sure he wilts into his sheets. He watches with hooded eyes as Lydia’s hand rises up to her face, and in deliberate mimic of his and Peter’s first encounter, she licks her hand clean.

A shuddering moan leave him. “ _B_ _light_ , you two.”

She laughs again, though more joyously. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Leaning in a little she sets her teeth on his jaw. “I’m fairly certain you and Peter can’t be alone again unless I’m there, I’ve already missed out on more than I thought I had.” He groans, only a little in dismay, and she laughs once more. Shifting up a little she kisses him. It’s much softer than before, and when she pulls away she bumps their noses. “This was nice though, even if...” she drifts off, her cheeks blushing a little. Though he hadn’t really expected her to be shy over sex.

“It’s no problem at all.” Even if there wasn’t intercourse they’re both clearly satisfied and that’s good enough for him. “Maybe next time?”

Her eyelashes flutter as she snuggles even closer. “Mmmm. Next time sounds good.”

—

The cafe they stop at is literally in the middle of nowhere, which in Death Valley is saying something. Though after three days you'd think he'd be used to coming across incongruous things of this ilk. As they step out of the car Peter's once again glad Malia decided she wanted to find her mother sooner rather than later, he can't imagine surviving Death Valley in early to mid-June, mid-March is bad enough.

Contrarily Malia seems unaffected by the heat, which he guesses is good for her, but as the time passes he finds himself longing more for the slightly chilly woods of Beacon Hills. _Does that make me a homebody, or just sane?_ Then again despite his desire to go home he finds himself feeling...cleaner than he has for a while.

He finds himself more amused than worried by the thought as they enter. Like most of the other places they'd been in they're the only patrons. The greeter is listless, or bored, as she welcomes them and leads them to their table. As they walk Peter lightly grabs Malia’s elbow briefly to catch her attention. Malia turns her head slightly, to show she’s paying attention, but keeps walking.

“If we don’t come across any sort of sign by sundown then we’re going to have to start heading back and try again later.” To be perfectly honest Peter didn’t expect anything to come out of this first trip anyways so he’s not all that disappointed overall. If the Desert Wolf returns here anytime soon she’ll more than likely find out that he and Malia were looking for her.

Malia’s response has to wait for the greeter to hand them their menus and tell them in a monotone what their server’s name is. Peter doesn’t really care. Then they’re alone and Malia’s eyes blaze bright blue. “ _W_ _hat_?! But we haven’t found her!” He has to pointedly remind himself that most of the time Malia spent as a human was as a child, so she still has a child’s impatience and desperation to have what she wants _right now_.

He knows it will probably annoy her further, but he shrugs. “When did I ever indicate Malia that we _would_ find her after only a few days of aimless wandering?” He keeps his voice as quiet as possible, the greeter is bored meaning she’s likely to pay more attention to something like an argument. “Your hope is admirable in some lights, but in this case it’s just naïve. You’re not an animal and you’re no longer a child. Your behavior should reflect that.” Very pointedly he looks at his menu. Malia can rant and rave at him all she wants but that’s all he’s going to say about that. He thinks it’s a good lesson in disappointment.

The waiter comes and Peter just orders a basket of fries, he’s not all that hungry at the moment. Malia just remains slumped in her seat, silent and sullen. As the waiter leaves he finds himself biting back a sigh, his words might have been a bit more cruel than the needed to be, but he won’t take them back now that they’ve been said.

Since it’s clear Malia isn’t going to engage in conversation anytime soon Peter pulls out his phone content to wait her out **—** hopefully in the interim his fries come. He’s composing a text for Lydia for all of a minute when he feels something very sharp press against his windpipe.

Peter’s certain having a knife held at his throat is a new experience. One he’d rather not experience again. Across from him Malia’s lost her sullenness and instead is angry but clearly as trapped as he. “Well, well. Here I thought you didn't even want to see the dust off my pelt Peter Hale?” Well he doesn't have to explain who he is. If he didn't think it would get him stabbed he'd ask Malia what her mother looks like. Who else could this be but the Desert Wolf after all? For now all he has to content himself with her sharp aloe scent **—** discontent would be a better word for it, her scent taunting the edges of the gaps in his memory.

“And yet here you are, slinking around, stinking up the place.” He hears her sniff. “You smell different from before. How do I know you’re not some ‘ànt’įihnii come to try and kill me.” There's a slight shift in the angle of the knife. He’d comment of course if not for his current predicament. From the way Malia stiffens he guesses she's being scrutinized. “Who's this? Our daughter?” She makes a derisive sound. “She doesn't even look remotely like us.”

He wants to speak, but at the moment he thinks he’d be better off trying to fight Scott than guess what the Desert Wolf might do next. A turn of events he decidedly doesn’t like. The knife presses a little deeper. “Well, what’ve you got to say for yourself?”

Instead of speaking he reaches up and taps the blade of her knife pointedly. It cuts deeply into said finger as she yanks her knife away, forcing him to bite back a hiss. “I’ve got enough paperwork that I’m pretty damn sure she’s our daughter, as to everything else would you believe me if I said I don’t remember a thing. For which we can thank my sister.” Since she’s behind him he can’t read her body language or expressions. He doesn’t know her scent well enough to guess at her emotions that way. He’s basically trapped waiting and he’d most certainly prefer not to be.

“Why should I believe you?” She’s not bothering to hide the suspicion from her voice.

He shrugs, he should be able to do that and not get hurt right? “I’ve got no reason to lie to you, and I’m sure you’ve got some way or another to find out for yourself.”

Footsteps behind him **—** and it’s not hard to figure out she’s making them purposefully **—** and a woman comes into view. She takes one of the empty seats and he lets himself get a good look at her. She’s strikingly beautiful, her dark brown hair had been cut almost down to her skin, giving no distraction from her sharp featured face, seemingly glowing chestnut eyes, and rich tawny skin. Her clothes are plainly practical: desert camo tanktop, drab olive cargo pants **—** into which her knife vanishes **—** tucking into good hiking boots. On a physical level Peter can see why he'd been attracted to her **—** and why she seemed to find it hard to believe Malia was their daughter.

“Stick out your hand girl.” Seemingly without thought Malia does so, palm facing upwards. “This will hurt, though if you fight it it'll hurt more. Telling you now so you don't complain about it later.”

Malia stiffens a little. “I can handle pain.”

The Desert Wolf snorts. “Everyone says that sugarplum, it means less than nothing.” Her nails grew out into claws and she strikes, driving them deep into Malia's palm.

In response Malia hisses and grits her teeth, but otherwise contains herself **—** not even an eye shift **—** which fills Peter with an odd burst of paternal pride.

More out of habit than anything else Peter's eyes glance around, looking for potential threats. The restaurant though is as empty as when they arrived, in fact his ears don't even pick up any of the usual sounds from the kitchen. Something he probably should have noticed earlier. Was this whole thing a set up from the start, or did the Desert Wolf just make an opportunity? Either way, if this doesn't end up with the both of them dead they can be home by tomorrow. A short gasp from Malia pulls his attention back to the two of them. Malia's inspecting her hand, her face a grimace of pain, while the Desert wolf reclines. “Fuck me sideways you _are_ our daughter. What's your name girl?”

“Malia.” She wrinkles her nose. “Was that really necessary?”

The Desert Wolf snorts again. “What? Hasn't Pete taught you anything?” She rolls her eyes. “I would've thought you'd raise her right _dear_.” Peter thinks he could do without the honey-venom voice.

“Considering I didn't even know she existed until last October, and the two of us didn't actually meet until February I feel I've done pretty well.” Not that he’s done all that much regarding her honestly, and he’s fine with that.

She cocks her head and looks at him. “Wow your sister must have really fucked you over.” Now he's certain Malia's earthiness isn't just because she spent most of her life as an animal. “Do you remember anything?”

He shakes his head. “No, my memories are as full of holes as Emmental cheese.”

Her laugh is harsh. “I didn't think she hated me _that_ much.” She sticks out her hand again, declawed this time. “Well for the second time I'm Ix Vásquez. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I don't think that's true anymore.”

Reaching out he shakes the hand, surprised at how calloused it is. “I won’t bother to introduce either of us, and I’m not quite sure what to think of you.”

“Lost your clever tongue have you?” Ix laughs again. “You said you had paperwork?”

“Mmm, a pointedly empty birth certificate and adoption records.” Though he’d left them in the car, and at the moment he feels no need to offer to get them.

Blunt fingers tap against the table. “Has your adopted family treated you well Malia?”

She shrugs. “I think they did when I was a kid. The first time I shifted I caused the crash that killed my sister and mom, then I was a coyote until about six months ago when Scott and Stiles found me because the Sheriff asked them to. Dad drinks a lot at night, but he lets me do basically whatever I want so it’s not so bad.”

Ix blinks, apparently even assassins can be surprised. “If I’d know Talia had planned to do _that_ to you I would have kept you long enough to foist you off onto another Coyote. I’d really lost what little desire I had myself to play house after Talia said Peter wanted no part of me and you,” she hardly sounds ashamed of what she’s saying. Though Peter can see hurt flicker across Malia’s face **—** it remains longer in her scent though, a strange coppery addition to her loamy base. Peter understands where Ix is coming from himself. The next few seconds are tensely silent, though it’s broken by Ix rolling her eyes. “Aren’t you both cheery?” She turns enough that she’s facing him completely. “How about I fix that memory problem of yours?”

Honestly all he can do in immediate response is blink, after he’s composed himself a little more he does speak up though. “How are you proposing you do that?” Granted it’s something he’d like very much, but he’s not going to suddenly trust her with himself.

“It’s not like she _destroyed_ your memories Hale, unless she managed to preform brain surgery on you without your noticing. It’ll be a simple thing to go in and cut them loose.” She brandishes her claws.

 _Ah_ , while overall he’s uncertain about a complete stranger riffling around in his head, actually _knowing_ his whole life might be worth it. He’ll take the leap of faith. “Alright.”

Malia’s eyes narrow. "What are you going to do to him?” Is that worry he hears in her voice?

A snort escapes Ix. “I’m going to go into his mind and open all the doors as it were. If you pay close attention you might even learn to do it yourself.” Peter will _not_ look flabbergasted at her implication. Going into the minds of others is a rare thing for werewolves, he’d only managed to learn it himself _after_ he’d been resurrected, and then it’d been a disturbing amount of luck. If this is something that’s commonplace for coyotes then, well, he’s not sure what to think.

Ix stands again, and once more walks around behind him. Despite knowing what’s going to happen he still stiffens when he feels her claws press up against his spine. “Deep breath Hale, on the count of three. One, two.” Her claws stab in and the world goes black.

 _...Peter didn't know why Talia insisted he be chained up this full moon, he hadn't had control issues since he was Derek's age, but he bowed to her wishes because even on the days when he'd wish she'd do things differently she's still his Alpha._ Sister _, however could be argued against._

_For the first time that Peter can remember he wanted the full moon to be over, he’d promised Sarah he'd meet her in Eureka tomorrow to go look at apartments **—** while they'd both agreed they're not quite the marrying types they’d still plan to raise Haizea together. _ _They'd talked over the phone earlier, him rolling his eyes and sniggering at her constant complaining about being unable to work while pregnant. Haizea would be born soon and then Sarah could return to her jet-setting assassin ways._

_More and more often he found himself thinking of what their daughter would look like. If she’d have his eyes or Sarah’s, what sort of child she’d be, what she’d want to do with her life. Talia would definitely be surprised to know his thoughts on that, or thoughts_ on _it at all._

_Talia's footsteps on the stairs pulled him from his thoughts. She looks as poised as always, even though she’s in a shapeless nightgown_ _**—** t_ _urning into a wolf completely wasn’t good on clothes._ _Even though he’d agreed to this he still pointedly rattles the chains. “Bad enough the cage, but chains too? What the hell did I do to piss you off this much?” Because he can’t think of a single thing in the past eight months. He’s been far too caught up in Sarah and Haizea to cause trouble. Not that Talia's needed an excuse it seems._

_“I’m not mad at you Peter.” She unlocks the cage and steps right up to him. “I just feel you’ve made a grave mistake and I’m here to correct that.” He sees her claws briefly and struggles and snarls as he feels them try to line up to his spine._

_Despite his best efforts the chains hold him in place. The claws dig in and the world goes black_...

With a gasp Peter returns to the present, all sorts of little facts and memories resettling themselves in his head. He closes his eyes and focuses on breathing for the next few minutes, trying to get his head back in relative order. To be frank it’s actually unsettling how much Talia saw fit to hide, it’s not like the whole of his college experience had up and vanished, but nine months starting from spring break senior year are distinctly hazy.

Old anger flares up. She’d made him forget his own graduation ceremony because Sarah-Ix **—** he can’t really even find it in him to be mad at her over a fake name considering everything else **—** had sat sullenly in the seats three months pregnant and disliking it. Him and her sharing a hotel room while they searched for an apartment. Coming back there to find Sarah-Ix curled up in the window seat and she’d start bitching at him about how she hated not being able to turn into a coyote whenever she wanted.

Present-him is surprised they stayed together **—** though he guessed the amount of sex they had probably helped **—** though to past-him it was clear they were going to do their best to carve out _something_ for themselves. Part of him itches for something to do, some way of settling the anxious feeling inside him. He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Peter?” Malia’s voice pulls him out of it enough to be aware of her. The worry on her face surprises him enough to return him to mostly functional.

Sarah-Ix appears somewhere between amused and bored. “You back among the conscious Hale?” She shifts her posture so she’s slumped against the back of her chair.

“Enough,” he bites out in response. It’ll take him much longer than a few minutes to come to terms with what he now knows of himself, then again it belongs in the past just like the rest of him before the fire and overall it has no real influence over him.

“That was interesting.” Sarah-Ix **—** and should he call her out on that or just not bother? **—** stands. “Is that everything or is there more?” She crosses her arms, like ‘more’ would be a huge inconvenience for her.

“You’re not going to stay and talk?” Malia sounds hurt. “We went through all the trouble of finding you.” Oh sweet naïve girl.

Sarah-Ix crosses her arms. “What made you think I wanted to be found? I’m an assassin girl, the day I get caught is the day I die. You’re both lucky you’re not threats to me. Since I’m in an honest mood I’ll also tell you that I’m not very chatty, which Hale can attest to. You may be my daughter but that doesn’t mean we’re going to start having heart to hearts, the life I lead doesn’t lend itself well to personal relationships.”

Malia’s face grew pensive. “What if I want to involve myself? You’re the only other coyote I know, and I have no idea about my own abilities, and maybe I just want someone who doesn’t know what’s happened to me to talk to.”

If Malia and her mother come to some sort of agreement that’s fine by him, but he thinks he doesn’t want any more to do with Sarah-Ix. It’s good to have some sort of closure and to have his memories back, but he’d also be happy to wash his hands clean of her right now. He stands. “You two can chat if you want, but I’m going to head back to the car.” At the very least he can catch a nap, maybe send his text to Lydia, perhaps he can wheedle Jordan’s number out of her and bug him for a while. “Just come on out when you’re done Malia.”

With that he walks off, glad at least that something went more right than he expected.

—

Malia watches Peter walk off feeling torn, on one hand she thinks he might want some company, on the other is _her mother_ , still standing in front of her chair. Shyly Malia looks at her again, she likes the harshness of her mother, the graceful way she moves. “Aren’t you going to stop him?” Most of her nerves from earlier are gone and she’s grateful for that, she doesn’t want her mother to have a false impression of her.

She **—** Malia has no idea whether she should call her mother or mom or Ix or something else **—** turns her full attention on Malia. “Why? He’s a grown man and can damn well take care of himself. If he does anything remotely stupid I’ll be able to hear it before it becomes any real danger to me.” Ix pulls her chair further out and turns it so she can face Malia while she sits. “You want to be in my life, hmm? You know that’s a great way to get yourself killed. If you have any notions of us hanging out or doing things together then I can disabuse you of them right now.”

Part of that hurts, because yeah, Malia did expect a little of that. The rest of her is practical enough to get that, she’s old enough to look after herself she doesn’t need a mother to teach her how to hunt. “I don’t want someone to hang out with, I just want someone to talk to every once in a while.” She fidgets a little crossing her arms, shifting a leg under her, trying to get herself into a more comfortable position. “Also I meant what I said about the coyote thing, all I know are werewolves and sometimes I feel like I can almost understand what they’re trying to say to me but I’m missing something important.”

“That’s to be expected.” Ix leans forward a little. “We may be of a kind, but origin informs us so very much. The first werewolves were cursed, the first werecoyote was a _gift_.” She reaches into one of her many pockets and pulls out a card and a pen. “If you want someone to call every once in a while I think I can manage that.” She puts the card on the table and quickly jots down two separate numbers. “The top one is mine, memorize it and never keep it stored on your phone.” With neat lines she writes a name next to the second. “This is Richard’s number, he’s another werecoyote who lives up in Oregon. If you have immediate problems or questions call him. He’ll most likely be able to get to you sooner than I can.” She puts the pen back. “Any other questions?”

Once again Malia fidgets briefly before deciding she might as well. “I have a friend who just started self-defense lessons and I wanted to get her something she could use to protect herself as a birthday present.”

Ix smiles deeply. “Now this is something I can get into, tell me a little about her.”

*

Ten or so minutes later Malia exits the restaurant feeling pleased with herself. She’s got her gift for Lydia figured out, she’s met her mother, and she’s got someone she can go to for information about herself. If her dad gets mad at her for skipping two days of school she knows it’s worth it.

Peter gives a small start as she opens the passenger door. “Done already? I would’ve thought you’d be in there still nattering her ear off.”

She glares at her sire, he doesn’t need to be so rude. “No. Why would I?”

He stares at her strangely for longer than she’s comfortable with, before shaking his head and starting the car. “Nevermind, shall we go home then? Or is there another strange quest you want to go off on.”

“No.” She gives him a sidelong look, wary of asking him if anything’s bothering him. “I want to go home.” She can’t wait to tell everyone about her mother and how cool she is. Ix is very much cool in Malia’s eyes. As Peter pulls back onto the road Malia starts thinking about where she might be able to find Lydia’s gift and if she can convince her dad to pay for it. Although, she moves a little trying to make herself more comfortable, maybe she can get Peter to help her. “Actually, we should stop in San Francisco first.”

The sidelong look he gives her is suspicious. “Why’s that?”

“The gift I want to get Lydia’s there.” She doesn’t see any reason to hide it.

“Works for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diantha - Dutch/English name meaning 'heavenly flower'; stems from the Greek 'dianthus'.
> 
> ‘ànt’įihnii - A Navajo word for a, usually, male follower of the Witchy Way, more commonly known as a skin-walker or naaldlooshii/naagloshi. While not every witch is a skin walker, every skin walker is a witch, and generally evil.
> 
> Emmental - The actual name for Swiss cheese.
> 
> And hey if you've got any questions about the story, or just want to talk about it you can send me an ask [at my Tumblr](http://kaelthewriting.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Next week: Lydia's birthday part one; the moment you've all been waiting for!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, five months and 19 chapters later I finally get to the Pydian sex...
> 
> Not that this story is anywhere near done.
> 
> Oh, and a minor TW for some blood.

As far as birthdays go, she didn’t expect this one to be so nerve wracking. Eighteen’s supposed to be all about getting drunk and having a good time. For her it’s also the first time she’s going to meet her birth mother and the stress of that is more than she thought it would be.

This year she doesn't have to worry about poisoning everyone. Unless someone else has slipped something stronger than alcohol into the punch. How short are the attention spans of her peers that everyone was more than happy to come, despite what happened last year?

Restlessly her hands smooth the front of her dress and she starts to turn to ask Allison what she thinks. Freezes, a cold lump forming in her chest. She feels a little guilty that she made it to eighteen but Allison didn't. Closing her eyes she takes a deep breath, she can do this. Opening her eyes she gives a deft nod and heads out to face her peers. Derek's in a corner, looking uncomfortable, though she thinks it might be because Stiles is drunk cuddling him. Biting back a smile she starts to mingle. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Liam trying to teach Malia how to salsa, even if the music isn't all that appropriate for it.

Lydia breaks off her conversation with Betty about collages when she sees someone new lurking in another corner. She rolls her eyes as she gets closer. “You know, I'm pretty sure you can't actually do the whole angry dad thing. Considering a few months ago you went and left her to the metaphorical wolves.”

Peter snorts. “Hello to you too Lydia. It was a good learning experience for her.”

Reaching up she tugs gently on his ear. “Really Peter? Could you make it any more clear you don't care about most people?”

A soft snarl escapes him and she barely manages to bite back a sound of surprise when an arm snakes out and tugs her closer. “I find I care about _you_ more than I should Lydia.” Just barely she feels his lips brush her temple. “As the gauche banner Scott and Stiles got you so proudly declares, you're eighteen now.”

The good kind of shiver runs through her. “That just means what's happening between us is actually legal. Not that that stopped you before, so not much has changed.”

He chuckles and noses her hair. “We've got new options to try out now.”

Arousal flickers through her, images of her, Peter, and Jordan curled in her bed. Of her and Jordan fucking, of Peter holding the other man down and mounting him **—** she tries to picture the reverse, but tiny facts coalesce into a whole and she realizes that Jordan’s too submissive for that to ever happen **—** while she watches, of Jordan tied up while she and Peter tease him. She wants to hate Peter for getting her aroused like that, not that he _did_ anything, but she knows the wait will be completely worth it. The three of them have been seeing each other for two weeks, but if she has her way this will be the first time the three of them have sex together. Before she can respond someone's calling her name.

She and Peter share a look. “I'd think you'd better go before someone throws a hissy fit.” It's a constant surprise that no one in the pack, save Derek, has figured out she and Peter are in a relationship. She'd have thought they'd be able to pick up his scent on her or _something_.

“Until later.” Peter's voice follows her as she head over to Scott and Kira, there's a huge cake between them and...her eyes widen in dread a little.

“You all start singing and nobody gets anymore alcohol.”

Which gets basically everyone, except her stupid, ridiculous friends, to shut up. Not those seven **—** somehow even _Derek_ joins in. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Ly-dia! Happy birthday to you!”

She hates them all. Thought Scott and Kira take the cake over to the side table and don't try to smash it into her face. Kira pulls a knife from somewhere and starts cutting. Scott brings her the first slice, a huge smile on his face. “Happy birthday.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes she takes the slice. Scott's way too eager. Not what one expects from an Alpha werewolf. “Thanks, you really shouldn't have.”

Scott doesn't have the same sort of restraint she does and rolls his eyes. “Come on Lydia, it's okay to admit you're having fun.”

Sure. But she won't. “You're a dork.”

Somehow Scott’s grin grows, and he surprises her by leaning in and pecking her cheek. “Don’t forget to dance!” He calls out as he dashes over to try and rescue Derek from Stiles, a lost cause really.

“It’s my party and I’ll do what I want!” She snaps in reply. As if to prove her point she takes a forkful of cake and shoves it into her mouth. They got her favorite: dark chocolate and raspberries... _mmmm_...

Though she almost loses the rest of her slice from surprise when Jordan appears right next to her. She narrows her eyes. “I’m getting you a bell.” She takes another bite of cake. He'd look interesting with a bell around his neck, and nothing else.

His lips twitch in a smile as he gives a small bow. “Sorry Lydia. Your mother is here.”

She swallows her mouthful of cake, not feeling very hungry anymore. “Oh.” She sets her cake on the table and turns to Kira, still slicing cake. “I’m ducking out for a bit.” She raises a hand to forestall Kira’s complaints. “I’ll be back soon, I swear.”

Kira arches an eyebrow. “If not I’m sending Malia after you.”

Lydia can’t really help but let out a huff of laughter at that. “Fine.” Turning back to Jordan she meets Peter’s gaze and gives a hopefully subtle nod. Then she focuses her attention on Jordan as she follows him through the house and out the front door. He’s nervous, she can see it in the way he shifts his balance and the tension in his shoulders, and she wants to lay her hand on the back of his neck and calm him **—** he brings out her dominant side more than Peter does and she likes it. Instead she quickens her step and snags his hand with hers, giving it a squeeze.

It’s worth it to see the stutter in his step before he squeezes back. It's a relief to see that some of the tension’s left his shoulders, and it eases something in her to know that _she’s_ the one who did it.

Hearing the faint snap of a twig she turns her attention to the yard and blinks at the woman standing in the middle of it surrounded by a circle of snow. Her mother doesn't look like anything Lydia expected from what Jordan's told her about her and the single conversation the two of them have had. Her hair is inky black and straight as steel, and the light from the porch casts dark green and blue highlights in it. The woman’s face is doll delicate yet somehow looks strong and forceful, and her skin is as white as the snow she stands in. The most shocking thing to Lydia is how modern her clothes are, she’d half-expected some dress straight out of some past era, but instead she’s in a cloud-grey suit that looks more expensive than anything Lydia’s ever bought herself. She meets the woman’s eyes and she _knows_ this is her mother, this woman looking back at her with the same hazel-green eyes as her own.

The barest hint of a smile appears on mother’s face at Lydia’s scrutiny, and Lydia finds herself walking towards her, drawn by that almost smile. Mother meets her halfway, and Lydia realizes how tall she is, snow trailing in her wake. The hand that cups her cheek is ice cold, eliciting a shiver. “Oh my dear sweet child, you’ve grown so well.”

Lydia finds herself blushing at those words, not at all what she expected from the Winter Queen. “Hello...it’s...it’s good to finally meet you mother.”

Mother **—** Lydia doesn’t think she’ll be able to call the woman anything less formal **—** huffs. “Wonderfully tactful my dear, you’ll do well enough. I must assure you that I would think nothing ill if you also said it is also painfully awkward. I do not expect you to think of my as your mother, there is too much time separating us for that to be true. You may call me Morana if you are not comfortable with ‘mother’.”

She blinks, she’d thought a faerie queen would be more circuitous in her speech. “You own bluntness is appreciated.”

The hand on her cheek leaves and Morana gives her a true smile. “Yes, very clever.” She takes a step back, though Lydia still has to crane her neck a little to meet her gaze. “Erwann tells me are a voracious learner. Which bodes well for you.”

Lydia finds herself blushing. “I only learn if it interests me.” Not that that’s saying much, lots of things interest her.

As if catching that thought Erwann laughs. “I would say than that many things interest you lady Lydia, considering how you’ve dogged me with questions over the simplest things.” The addition of 'lady' is vaguely surprising, more in a 'I didn't expect that at all' sort of way. But she guesses it _is_ a proper term of address. He really should probably be calling her 'princess', if such things bothered her.

An echoing laugh escapes Morana. “So much like your father in that respect then. He made music more fine than any I’ve ever had the pleasure of listening, but to he was a scholar at heart.” Her expression turns a little sad. “It would have been wonderful if he were alive to see you now, he would fair burst with pride I think.”

Lydia has to bite back her ‘thank you’ at that comment. “I would have loved to have met him.” Though she don’t know much about the man, besides the fact that he died trying to protect her, she thinks her mother is right in her respect.

Something in Morana’s posture shifts. “Erwann if you would give us a moment?” Her hazel eyes have a slightly unnerving glitter to them. “Perhaps you could find out why that man is lurking by the front door.”

He blushes and Lydia finds herself biting back a giggle. “Of course Your Majesty.” He gives a sharp bow before walking over to Peter.

A second or two later mother steps closer. “Now we are unobserved and unheard.” She shocks Lydia completely by pulling her into a hug. It reminds her very much of jumping into snowbanks as a child. When they break apart icy fingers once more cup her cheeks. “I find I wish I could tell you you are safe.” Thumbs brush her cheekbones as Morana’s shoulders fall. “That cannot be, we must arrange for you to come to Court soon. Naming you my heir will give you some safe guards, and there are one or two other rituals that will give you even more.” Her hands fell away abruptly. “We shall not have your father’s death be in vain.”

Lydia’s not quite sure how to respond to that, so she just gives a little nod.

The barest twitch of a smile crosses Morana’s face. “On the topic of safe guards, it seems as if Erwann is quite enamored with you.”

A deep bush rushes across her cheeks. “We are together.” Those words feel awkward on her tongue, but it feels like it encompasses their relationship better than ‘we’re dating’. “Along with Peter, the one you noticed lurking.” Out of everyone she’d never thought she’d be telling her biological mother about their relationship. For all she knows there might be some faerie rule about that **—** then again if there were she’d have hoped Jordan would have told her it already.

Morana’s eyes sharpen with interest, flicking over again to Jordan and Peter. “Is that so? That shall stir the pot.” Another ghost of a smile passes over her. “Shortly I will drop the glamour around us and call Erwann back. He will most likely ask to leave my service to join yours, and I shall let him. Though it shall not be without price.” The full force of her gaze focuses on Lydia. “Consider this your first lesson my own. The Court is nothing more than chain upon chain of promise and obligation, they hold us together even as everyone plots to try and undo their own. The rub is that it will only gain them new ones.” One of her hands rises up to brush back some of Lydia’s hair. “So it will behoove you to perform favors and acts for others so that they will owe you something in return, and let only a select few do you favors and acts in return. The fewer personal obligations you and yours have to others the more you can focus on your duties unhindered.”

Lydia understands it all, even if she doesn’t fully comprehend the meaning. That can come later though, when the words became more relevant.

Content with no response at all Morana takes two steps away from her, and turns towards Jordan and Peter. “Erwann,” she calls softly. “You may return.”

When he does he’s a little flushed, something that Lydia is certain is Peter’s fault. His pale green eyes dart between them briefly before he goes to Morana and kneels before her. “Your Majesty, if you would grant me leave I would break the vows I made with you and swear myself to your daughter.”

“If that is what you wish Sir Erwann, then I shall not stop you.” She steps forward and rests a hand on Jor- _Erwann’s_ head. “I release you from my service, Erwann, though it is not without price. You shall owe me a favor at the time of my choosing.”

He bows his head. “I would consider the release from your service as my boon for finding Lydia and thus would owe you nothing.”

Morana laughs. “Oh, well played sir knight. Thus is it said and thus is it dealt. Thusly are you no longer mine.”

An icy shimmer appears around him, then just as suddenly vanishes. Morana removes her hand and takes a few steps back, gesturing for Lydia to take her place. Nerves twisting inside her she does.

When she’s completely in front of him Erwann looks up, his pale green eyes nearly drowning her. She can’t let that happen, not right now. She needs to be the one in control. Though she feels what little control she has slipping when he pulls something out of his boot and cuts a gash on the back of his arm. Shocking her by offering it up. “I give myself to your mercies Lydia, whatever they may be. I am yours to do with as you please, so long as you do no abuse I cannot stand.”

Arms shaking and running on intuition more than anything, she raises his arm up a little higher and seals her mouth over most of the gash. His blood hits her tongue like candy, though far richer, and her insides purr, _ours_. In the corner of her eye she can see Peter by the front door, eyes flaring blue, as she lets Erwann’s arm go. “I accept you as my knight. May you serve my will and wishes until my last breath, or such time as I release you from my service.” It feels like the right thing to say, and she feels even more confident about it when mother rests a hand on her shoulder and gives a slight squeeze.

She turns to face Morana and opens her mouth to say something, only to be stopped by the sound of crackling ice **—** reminiscent of their first meeting. Almost imperceptibly Morana straightens. “I had wished we could have spent more time together, but I am apparently needed at court.” This time when Lydia gets pulled into a hug she mostly returns it.

“If you have need to contact me, simply put a drop of blood on a mirror and speak my name and I shall appear. We should speak soon of your visiting. Farewell Lydia and.” Mother gives her a half smile. “Have a happy birthday.”

Considering the plans she has Lydia hopes so too. “I'll try to Morana.”

Barely a second later Morana’s gone, leaving behind only rapidly melting snow.

Now that they’re alone, Peter doesn’t count since he’s part of this, she finds she can resist the clawing urge inside her any longer. Grabbing Jordan’s shirt she pulls him up and kisses him. _Ahhh_.

Something about this kiss is different from the few others they've had. Maybe it's the fact she can still taste his blood on her tongue, maybe it's the expectation of what's to come. Regardless she makes a little sound of disappointment when he breaks the kiss and tries to take a step back, but runs into Peter before that can truly happen. One of Peter’s clawed hands wraps around Erwann’s chest, lying oh so lightly over his heart. The other snatches up his injured arm bringing it up to Peter’s mouth, his tongue snaking out to catch the blood that remains around the now healed skin. A sight if there ever was one.

Erwann’s breath hitches, and arousal roars through her. She reaches up, it’s a little ridiculous that they’re both so much taller than her, and tugs Jordan down. “If I kiss you again are you going to try and run? Maybe we should take the choice out of your hands and just tie you down, have our wicked, wicked ways with you.”

She can practically _hear_ his pulse jump at her words and that’s headier than anything. He’s shaking his head. “Lydia...Peter...I...”

Her hands cup his face, nails digging in just enough. “We've been together already, is this any different yew-child?” Looking up his name, after she’d guessed a little on the spelling, hadn’t been all that hard. That didn’t mean she had an idea of how his named tied into everything. “My own?” She feels like she did in the coffee shop months ago, chastising him on his manners. “Say no and we will leave you be for now, but we all want this.” Part of her doesn't want to give him that out, but she _needs_ to.

Emotion after emotion flits across his face, showing just how conflicted he feels. She relaxes her fingers, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “We're all of death Erwann.” It's the first time she's spoken his true name in Peter's presence. “You couldn't harm us unless we wanted you to.”

“That's not–” Lydia covers his mouth before he can finish.

“Right now Erwann that's all that matters. Unless it has to do with performance issues or possible fae STIs.” She arches an eyebrow. She knows it's not performance issues if what Jordan told her about him and Peter is true **—** not that she'd doubt him **—** but fae STIs wouldn't surprise her. He flushes, but shakes his head laying a brief kiss on her palm. In response she gives a bright smile and taking her hand away lifts herself up on her toes, Peter supporting her so she doesn't collapse on Jordan, and kisses him.

This time he response and that makes it universes better. Peter's grip on her hips tightens a little, making her gasp into Jordan, deepening their kiss. Almost as if that's what he was waiting for Jordan leans in changing the angle and pushing her back towards Peter, his hands gently tangling in her hair.

“As lovely as this is,” Peter sounds a little strained. “Maybe it's best we go somewhere a little more private? I'd hate to have to explain to any random passerby.”

Lydia breaks away from Jordan with a disappointed sigh. Peter makes up for it though by letting go of her and squashing her between them as he reaches out and drags Jordan right against her. Tilting her head up she sees Peter give Jordan an almost brutal looking kiss, in fact when Peter pulls away there's a drop of blood on Jordan's lips which Peter quickly leans in to lap up.

“Though that isn't to say we still can't have a little fun.” Peter lets go of Jordan only to shove him towards the front door. He gives Lydia a meaningful glance. “I'm curious to see what we can do without anyone noticing.”

What a wonderful sounding challenge. Rapidly she bridges the distance between herself and Jordan, pressing herself against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist, and letting a hand dip teasingly into his pants. “Oh, do lets.”

Eventually they make it up to her room. By that time though Peter’s the most coherent of all of them. Jordan’s been kissed and pushed and pulled so much that he looks high off it, content now to let them do as they please. Has her on a bit of a power rush, because _gods_ , having that sort of control over someone is still relatively new to her and she finds she wants _more_. Peter’s the one who’s guiding them, making sure they don’t run into anyone from the party still in full swing, and that her bedroom door is firmly shut and locked behind them when they finally enter her room. Breaking away from another kiss with him she shoves Jordan onto her bed, hastily unzipping her dress. Letting it fall to the ground she can almost feel two sets of eyes lingering on her icy-purple lingerie and garters as she stalks back towards Jordan. “Strip.”

He looks so far out of it that for a moment she thinks she’s going to have to repeat her command, but his face clears and soon he’s hurriedly unbuttoning his shirt and making quick work of shedding his shoes, socks and pants. She goes and straddles him, one knee on the bed the other foot on the ground, making her tall enough to look him in the eye. Almost lovingly she runs her hands through his hair and gently yanks up so they can kiss once more. It’s something she doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of. There’s an electrical frisson that runs through her, a sensation she finds she already craves and she hopes every kiss after tonight is always like this.

She breaks away when too warm hands trace the line of her spine. “Don’t stop on my account.” Peter’s tone is wry and amused, and for a moment she and Jordan share a faint look of exasperation. Then she’s moving down to assault Jordan’s neck. Obligingly he tilts his head up a little, and a moan escapes him while Peter’s chest becomes a line of heat against her back, caging her between them again.

She hears a wet sound and looking up through her lashes she sees Peter kissing Jordan with the same sort of fervor she had. With a noise of approval she pushes back a little, setting her ass firmly against Peter’s cock and swaying enticingly. Peter’s other hand, the first is tangled in Jordan’s hair, slides to the nip of her waist and his fingers rub almost painfully deep against her scars. A needy whine escapes her as she throws her own head back, pressing forward to seek stimulation against Jordan’s cock.

Lydia hears the sound of a kiss being broken and mere seconds later Peter’s stubble is rasping against her neck and cheek. “Do you want something Lydia? Dear birthday girl, little deadly flower.” The line of heat against her front that is Jordan leaves, but she soon finds herself distracted by Peter’s hand on her waist dipping below the line of her panties. One of her almost silent moans escapes her.

“Fuck, don't stop.” Jordan sounds about as wrecked as he looked earlier and she finds herself looking at him again, laid out on her indigo sheets like a feast waiting to be ravened. His left hand strokes her left thigh, gently coercing her further up onto the bed. She goes, straddling him completely and bringing Peter to the edge of the bed. “Please.”

Peter's deep laugh is warm in her ear as his hand dips even lower, his pointer finger teasing the edges of her labia. “Well Lydia, shall we give him the show he's begging for?”

Her insides clench and Peter lightly nips at her neck. For a moment the only sounds are her and Jordan's heaving breathing and the party below them. Finally though she manages to get out a “yes.”

His fingers begin their work in earnest, diving in without warning and wrenching a gasp from her. Jordan's grasp on her thighs tightens, pressing her garters deeper into her skin, and his gaze on her feels like another touch. Peter's skillful fingers play her like a fiddle, bringing her up to the edge over and over, but denying her every time, putting on the show he'd threatened. His other hand cups a breast, flicking and twisting her nipple, she writhes. “Peter!”

Both men groan and that fills her with a sort of pride. Yet Peter yanks her into orgasm, ripping a whine from her. Her knees give out and she sits fully on Jordan, he's hard underneath her and she squirms, leaning her shoulders against Peter. Now feeling a little blissed out herself she watches lazily as Peter brings his dripping fingers to Jordan's lips. Another whine escapes her as she watches him clean Peter's fingers, her insides clenching setting off a smaller orgasm inside her. _Fuck._

When Peter takes his fingers away, Jordan's head rises up to try and chase them. Peter makes a chastising sound and like that Jordan returns to his prone position. As if in reward Peter's removes her bra. “This is my favorite...well second favorite Lydia.” Lydia hates, in the best way, how conversational Peter always sounds when he's the one in control. “Orgasm makes her so loose I can do whatever I want with her and you wouldn't hear a peep of complaint from her.” She gives a little unsteady sway as Peter pushes her forward, but one of his arms wraps around her waist steadying her. His other hand gently divulges her of her shoes and encourages her to move enough that he can remove her stockings and garters as well.

Jordan gives an audible sigh, and Peter laughs again. “Maybe next time we'll keep them, if you're good.” His hand drifts down to Jordan, claws making red furrows on his chest on their way to toy with the waistband of his boxer briefs. Peter pulls the elastic up and lets it go, the _snap_ of impact a satisfying sound that makes Jordan's stomach jump and twitch. “Off.”

Jordan starts to wiggle them down and Lydia finds herself being lifted by Peter **—** who manages to get her underwear off at the same time. Then she's sitting on Jordan again, with nothing between them, he's thicker than Peter but probably about the same length, she wiggles and makes a happy sound.

“Well Lydia,” Peter's breath fans her ear as he speaks sotto voce. “Shall we risk pregnancy and forgo condoms tonight?”

She wants to say yes, birth control's always made her sick **—** she wonders if that's fae genetics at work **—** so she's never been consistently on it, wants them both to fill her so full she practically _gushes_ cum. So full she _does_ get pregnant: a son with Jordan's eyes, Peter's hair, and her intelligence. A daughter she can name after Allison, or Talia, or some woman important to Jordan, wants it enough that she can feel it growing her chest like a tree.

Before she can speak, Jordan does. “No.” They both look at him, surprised.

Peter hums thoughtfully for a few seconds. “And if I say you have to?” Lydia doesn't think Peter will, because that's taking control a bit too far even for Peter—especially this soon in the relationship—but she's surprised he even asks.

She can see Jordan's face play out a little of the mental conflict he must be going through. Eventually though he shakes his head. “No.”

A sigh escapes Peter and she feels a little disappointed herself. Peter smacks a kiss on her cheek as if in consolation. “Oh well.” Letting her go completely she sees him rummage through her bedside drawer for condoms and lube. Leaning down she kisses Jordan. He sighs into her mouth, one of his hands returning to her thigh, the other cupping her breast. She greedily consumes that sigh and gives him a moan in return. Which is when Peter returns, one of his hands insinuating itself between her and Jordan, a finger wiggling into her vagina and another brushing against Jordan's cock. “Would you like to do the honors my dear or shall I?”

“You,” she manages to grit out before lifting herself up and leaning forward so she and Jordan can kiss again.

For a moment claws rake gently down her spine. “If you insist.” He apparently gets to work right away if the sounds Jordan starts making are anything to go by.

This time Jordan's the one to break away, throwing his head back and giving a reedy moan. “Peeteerr.” It's the sexiest fucking thing Lydia thinks she's ever heard and she finds herself starting to grow impatient.

“Now would be nice Peter.”

He chuckles and she feels his stubble brush her neck again. “Patience.” He lays an almost gentle kiss right under her ear.

Managing to raise herself onto her knees Lydia turns her head a little and narrows her eyes at Peter. “He might be wearing a condom Peter, that doesn't change the fact I want him to come _inside me_. You giving him a handjob is making that less likely by the second.”

Peter's laughter is silent, but Jordan's is a choked gasp that makes Lydia smile. “Taskmistress,” but Peter softens his chiding with another kiss below her ear.

She finds herself growing a little smug. “You love it.”

Jordan gives another grunt, but then Lydia feels both of Peter's clawed hands at her waist. “He's all yours sweetheart.”

Sweeter words were never spoken. Peter's hands shift again, helping her find the right angle and position. She starts sinking down with a soft moan, _mmmmm definitely a little wider_.

Barely halfway down, she's relishing taking it slow making every inch of his count, she hears the pop of the lube cap and a few seconds later Peter's fingers are teasing at her ass. She purrs when he slips two fingers inside and she sinks further down on Jordan. As Peter's fingers split she feels his teeth scrape down the same path he'd taken a minute earlier with his claws. She moans at both sensations, sinking down on Jordan faster. When Peter's teeth worry at her scars she mewls and Jordan's fully inside of her and...

Orgasming around him wrenches a snarling grunt from Jordan, and the hum Peter makes echoes through her, making her twitch.

She starts to slump forward Peter's other arm snakes around her and keeps her upright. “Now, now Lydia. We haven't even really gotten started and you're slacking off.”

Turning slightly to glare down at him she bares her teeth in a snarl.

Before Peter can respond to that Jordan begins to shake, it takes them both a few moments to realize he's laughing. Noticing their attention he grins. “Ruin, are you two always like this?” He doesn't say it meanly but it's a little jarring for Lydia, because yes, they're always like this.

It seems to catch Peter up a little bit too though, so she doesn't feel too bad. “And if we are? We're not exactly...easy people on the best of days.” Though she's pretty sure Jordan already knows that, even if they've only been vaguely dating for two weeks.

Surprise clearly flickers across Jordan's face at Peter's admission. “I don't know, it's not like I haven't got problems of my own. So...”

While Lydia will admit this is probably a conversation they need to have, having it during sex doesn't feel like the right place. “Look, can we get back to this later?” She wiggles on top of Jordan making him hit her G-spot by accident. She clenches, he groans. She's pretty sure she made her point. “We aren't exactly done here.”

Peter's breath as he laughs ghosts across both her and Jordan and they shiver. “If you say so birthday girl.” He straightens, his free hand running up her back to tangle lightly in her hair. “Let's see if you're ready enough.”

Lydia feels a ball of nerves and eagerness tangle up inside her stomach as Peter tilts her forwards a bit, she can feel him moving around a little and positioning himself, but it doesn't distract her from the fact that that action changed the angle of Jordan inside her and he's hitting all sorts of wonderful places. Shamelessly she gives a pleased sigh and wiggles again, making Jordan beneath her twitch and jerk up. She laughs, but it quickly turns into a whine as Peter starts sliding in, she's never felt so full in her _life_ , and why didn't she try this sooner?

She's not the only one affected too, if the choked sound Jordan makes is any indication.

Peter's breath feels dangerously hot against the shell of her ear and he sinks in further. A snarling sound of his own barely emerging from between most likely clenched teeth. “Just, a little more.”

It certainly doesn't feel like a _little_ more, not that Lydia's complaining, _at all_. And because she thinks Jordan might be feeling a little left out she lets her hands smooth up his chest, eagerly pinching his nipples and making him give a soft yelp. “Come up here and kiss me.” It's probably the most commanding thing she's said all night and she loves the little flutter that fills her when he does so. His kiss this time is a little wilder, more intense, and she greedily welcomes it.

Only to break away when she feels Peter bottom out inside her. “Holy...”

Behind her Peter gives a strained laugh. The hand wrapped around her waist turns, only to push Jordan back down on the bed. “Stay there this time, hm?”

She opens her mouth to complain, but then Peter tilts her even further forward, and the world goes a little white. “Jesus Peter, are you trying to kill me?”

His laugh isn't so strained this time as he grabs her hips and rotates a little. “Where would be the fun in that Lydia?”

Before she can think of a snappy reply he actually thrusts in, unintentionally **—** or maybe intentionally this is Peter after all **—** moving Jordan as well. Jordan doesn't seem content to let Peter do all the work, his hands join Peter's at her hips **—** why does she find that hot? **—** and thrusts up as best he can, rubbing up against her G-spot once more. Peter rubbing nerve endings of his own and, oh...

There's orgasm number three.

This time they don't let her ride it out, not without driving her further into it first. Somehow they pick out a rhythm, their movements pushing her forwards and back rapidly. She finds herself loosing track of time, so much so that she can't tell if Jordan orgasm's a few seconds or a few minutes after her's. Another one of those delicious reedy moans escaping him.

Peter's teeth scrape her neck and begin nibbling and nipping. Part of her wants to care about having to explain those to the others, but overall she's too blissed out to really care. She can feel Jordan starting to shrink inside of her and as he does so Peter pushes her further and further forward, until both their fronts are pressed together, all the while pumping in and out and hitting nerves she didn't know she had. Definitely not the same as just having Peter in her ass.

He pulls away from her neck and she moves her head a little to see him kissing Jordan once more. Peter growls, a sound she feels moving from his chest into her back more than hears, and she can feel the condom balloon a little as he finally comes. He slumps over her, squashing her firmly between them. A sensation she enjoys for right now, but is sure will be highly uncomfortable in a minute or two. Before she can tell Peter that he's pushing himself up and pulling out of her. She finds herself pouting at Jordan when Peter lifts her up enough that he slides out too. Jordan rolls his eyes.

After they cleaned up a little they happily become a tangled mass of limbs on her bed. Lydia feels safer and more loved than she has in weeks...she draws up short at that thought, _more loved_? True she thinks it obvious, to her, that they both care about her very deeply, but love?

Before she can think further on that though, Peter kisses her shoulder. “I've got a present for you.”

Feeling a little sleepy she looks down at him. “What? The fantastic sex not enough for me?”

Against her cheek she feels Jordan start to shake with laughter, the sound quiet when it finally leaves his mouth. Peter smiles. “For you sweetheart? Never.”

She pouts as Peter untangles himself and climbs out of bed, going over to his pile of clothes. He rummages around for a little bit, before pulling something out of a pocket and returning. Climbing back into bed he settled himself against her once more. “Hold out your hand.”

Eagerly she does so, she feels Jordan shift a little his attention just as much on Peter as hers is. Peter opens his hand and a set of keys falls out, landing heavily on her palm. “Though really that's only part one.”

Confused, she looks at the keys. “What are they for?”

“The lake house.” She doesn't know how to feel about Peter being mom's mystery buyer. Him giving the lake house to her? Her memories of the place at the moment aren't exactly fond. “As for part two.” He leans in and nibbles at her jaw for a moment. “How does a million dollars towards remodeling sound?”

Oh, _oh_. The thought of tearing out that terrible room of Lorraine’s fills her with horrid glee. Negligently she tosses the keys in the general direction of her nightstand and wraps her arms around Peter, pressing herself against him. “I think it sounds perfect.” She undulates. “I think it deserves a little reward.”

He chuckles, while behind her Jordan gives a little groan. “You two might seriously be the death of me.”

Lydia laughs. “Who said you had to participate? You can watch.”

—

Following Lydia's scent trail Malia climbs up the stairs, eager to get this done and over with. The trail ends at Lydia's closed door. Malia raises her hand to knock, because that's what you _do_ , but before she actually can she hears voices and laughter and the creak of a bed. As eagerly as she'd gone up, Malia quickly heads back downstairs. She'd rather _not_ hear others having sex thank you very much. She marches up to Kira who's frowning at her, and smelling a little annoyed. “Where's Lydia?”

“Having sex.” Being blunt is the only way Malia can see Kira not going off to find Lydia herself.

At first Kira blushes, then grins. “Ooo, was it Parrish?” She doesn't wait for an answer before continuing. “Go Lydia!”

Malia shrugs, it didn't really smell like just Parrish, but she's not going to dissuade Kira's train of thought. After all Malia’s a little impressed that Lydia’s mate...having sex with two men. “Can I go now?” She'd kind of been having fun learning odd dances from Liam, she wonders what sort of dancing someone else could teach her.

“Yeah, sure.” Kira looks distracted though.

Not that it's really any of Malia's business what might or might not be bothering Kira so she shrugs again and heads off into the small crowd hoping to corner someone and learn something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Lydia's birthday part two, the presents.


	20. Chapter 20

Kira kind of doesn't want to do this but there are presents that need opening and everyone else is starting to notice the lack of Lydia. Feeling a little bad she goes up the stairs and up to Lydia's room, giving it a nice forceful knock. What few sounds, thank kami, she can hear from the room falls silent. “Lydia! I know you're probably having lots of fun in there.” Which feels like the understatement of the century. “But you should at least come downstairs and open your presents.”

There's some more noise, including a familiar sounding voice, which Kira quickly identifies as Parrish's. Kira finds herself grinning. Then Lydia's voice drifts through the door. “Give us ten minutes Kira.”

“Alright.” Mission accomplished, she heads down the stairs and outside. Most of the casual partiers have already left, leaving only the pack and Danny. Which is as it should be. Reaching out she touches the switch for the lights, closing her eyes she concentrates for a few moments, picturing the flow of electricity not stopping but slowing and lessening. The lights flicker a few times. As hoped everyone falls silent and as she opens her eyes she sees everyone's looking at her. “Presents in ten minutes guys.” Which starts a small bout of action as everyone vaguely tidies up, Scott and Danny passing her go in to get presents. Scott pauses for a second to smile at her. She happily returns it.

Out of the corner her eye she sees Stiles, still a smidge drunk but obviously more sober than he'd been, approaching her. “Where'd you find Lydia?”

“Personally dealing with the deputy who came to deal with the noise complaint.” She gives him the dirtiest smile she can, because shameless teasing is always fun.

It pays out a few seconds later with Stiles' look of disgust. “Oh God, I didn't need to know that, please tell me it's not my dad...” His brain finally seems to catch up though and... “Oh _deputy_ , you mean Parrish?” He blinks. “Huh. Well, that's, that's good.” Though he also appears dazed, though that might be all the punch he had.

Mentally Kira agrees. Sure Lydia had probably appreciated Aiden's smoking hotness, and Kira thinks Lydia cried at his funeral, but Aiden wasn't exacting a good, or even nice, guy. Which was what Lydia really needed. Kira finds herself happy that Lydia and Parrish seemed to have gotten together. From what little interaction she's had with him he kind of reminds her of Scott. Just, just _good_.

There’s some frustrating waiting, but eventually Lydia and Parrish exit the house, hand in hand. Everyone looks pleasantly surprised; except for Derek, who's face scrunches in what Kira thinks is confusion. Kira has no time to wonder why that might be because everyone’s sitting down, ready for presents.

“Mine first,” Stiles nearly shouts, grabbing a smallish orange package and thrusting it towards Lydia.

Lydia huffs, but takes it anyways. With painstaking slowness she starts to undo the tape. Kira bites her tongue to keep herself from telling Lydia to hurry up. She's knows she wouldn't want anyone to gripe at her over her own unwrapping style.

Finally all the paper is gone showing a small cardboard box, Lydia lifts the lid and reaching in pulls out an old looking book. Kira can't see what’s on the cover, but from the face Lydia makes she can guess it's not much. Lydia opens the book flipping through the first few pages, clearly looking for a title. She must find it because she starts speaking. “ _Discours et Histoires_...seriously Stiles? ' _The Discussion and History of Ghosts, Visions and Apparitions of Spirits, Angels, Demons, and Souls Appearing Sensibly Unto Man. And Also of Witches, Sorcerers, Enchanters, and Such Like'_?”

Kira's pretty sure that's the longest book title she's ever heard.

Stiles doesn't look the least bit embarrassed. “What? It's a book on dead things, I would think that's perfect for you Lydia.”

Which is a good point on Stiles' part. They all might not have the best idea how her banshee powers work but even Kira knows it has to do with the dead.

Lydia gives a little sigh. “The thought is appreciated.” Kira thinks that's an odd thing to say when a 'thank you' would have been enough, but she's not Lydia. Who promptly arches an eyebrow. “Well? Who's present am I opening next?”

That is totally Scott's cue, though he would've missed it if she didn't nudge him in reminder. He gave a little start. “Oh, uh. Mine and Kira's?” He's such a dork. Lydia holds out her hands expectantly. Scott hurries over to the pile of wrapped presents and grabs theirs nearly overturning a dark green box; the paper's covered with balloons and lots of 'Happy Birthdays!'. “Here.” Scott smiles proudly as he hands it over. Kira feels a knot of excited nerves start to grow, she can't wait to see what Lydia thinks of them. Kira thinks they're perfect for her.

As with the previous present Lydia takes her time unwrapping and it's clear she's a little taken aback by the shoe box underneath. She flips open the lid, tosses out the little tissue paper is, and moments later pulls out off-white flats with colorful peacock feathers out of the box.

Lydia stares at them for a few moments. “Huh.”

Kira and Scott share a look of vague worry before they both refocus on Lydia, still staring at the flats. Scott clears his throat. “We, ah, I, we thought you could use some practical shoes, since I don't think it's all that easy to run in heels.”

Reaching over Kira squeezes Scott's forearm. “What he's not saying is that without my input you'd have something butt ugly and not super cute.” The looks she shoots Scott is mostly mock-sympathy. “You kind of have horrible tastes in cute.”

Scott's more 'awww shucks' than 'angry'. “Yeah, what she said.”

Lydia gives an indecipherable huff, then puts the shoes back in the box. “They'll be useful.” Putting the box on the ground she uses her foot to add it to the pile of unwrapped presents.

Before Lydia can even ask who is next Malia is in front of her holding out a medium sized cardboard box. “This next.” She sounds a little more enthusiastic than she probably should be, but Kira's not going to curb her. It takes less time to open this one, since Malia didn't wrap it. More tissue paper joins the growing pile at Lydia's feet, and moments later she's pulling out three smaller boxes. Dropping the big box she sets the smaller boxes on her lap and opens the first one.

She pulls out a... _knife_? The handle and sheath are a matte black and when Lydia unsheathes it the blade is the same. Carefully she sheathes it and puts it back in it's box, opening the next one reveals another knife exactly like the first. The third is a pocket knife also done all in matte black. Just like with the first Lydia is careful in opening it. The blade is shorter than the first two, but the back half is serrated. As Lydia puts the last knife away everyone turns to Malia, clearly questioning, mentally at least, her choice of gift.

Malia shifts a little, uncomfortable with all the attention on her. “What? Mom said they were good, dependable knives. Lydia can use all the sharp pointy things she can get, it's not like she can defend herself like we can.”

“Thank you Malia.” Everyone turns back to Lydia, Kira at least a little amazed that Lydia seems to _like_ the gift. “I'll do my best to make good use of them.”

Malia beams. “You're welcome Lydia. It was lots of fun to hear mom talk about them, I didn't know knives could be so interesting.”

Beside Kira Scott tenses a little. Reaching out she puts a calming hand on his forearm; she knows Scott is struggling to accept the fact Malia sees nothing wrong with her assassin mother. Kira knows it troubles him that the other girl just doesn't seem to care about what her biological parents have done and currently do.

Lydia sets the box next to all her other gifts, and expectantly looks around. “Next?”

Everyone's a little surprised when it's Derek who gets up next, shoulders hunched at all the looks he's getting. He goes over to the table and picks up the second smallest present. With about the same sort of forcefulness as Malia **—** maybe they _were_ related **—** handed the gift to Lydia. Kira found herself at just the right angle to notice he's blushing.

“I hope you like it,” he mutters as he heads back to his seat.

Smiling at his retreating form Lydia says. “You didn't have to get me anything Derek.”

His shoulders hunch a little more as he looks at her, for some reason expecting the worst. “Yeah, I did.”

Lydia doesn't respond to that, except to take off the lavender paper, then the lid of the box within. “Oh, wow.” All Kira can see is glints of sliver and black, until Lydia picks up the necklace to show it off. It takes Kira's mind a few seconds to recognize that the enameled black shapes are crows, or maybe ravens, done in the Celtic style. Even longer to realize that the legs of the crow-ravens interlock to create a triskele.

Setting it back in the box Lydia looks Derek straight in the eye, “Derek it's _wonderful_.”

Derek nods, relaxing. “You're welcome.”

Almost reverently Lydia sets Derek's gift down, her eyes sliding to the presents table. “Danny or Jordan?”

Danny stands. “I'll go next.” Going over to the table he picks up a good sized box and carries it over to set on Lydia's lap. “You're just going to have to trust me when I say I spent less on it that you would think.” With that strange pronouncement he sat down.

Clearly more intrigued than anything, then again Kira can't blame her, Lydia tears into the yellow paper with gusto. Like everyone else's there's a cardboard box, the lid gets opened and the tissue paper inside gets flung everywhere, at least until Lydia's hands stop, before shakily returning into the box. “Danny...” She pulls out a book, one that looks much older, and bigger, than the one Stiles had given her. The spine is beautifully done, but the front and back look plain. Rapidly Lydia's hands open the book and flip to the title page. “ _Nova Methodus_...Danny, you didn't.”

In the face of her narrowed eyes Danny raises his hands. “Hey, trust me I paid a _lot_ less than market value for that. It might not exactly be current but I knew how much you'd like it.”

Lydia blinks rapidly, and Kira wonders if she's trying not to cry. “Damn straight.”

“What is it?” Scott asks, confused. Then again so is Kira, and if they're confused than what's Malia feeling?

“The May 1697 edition of the _Acta Eruditorum_ containing _Nova Methodus pro Maximis et Minimis_. 'The New Method of Maximum and Minimum' by Gottfried Leibniz, one of the fathers of calculus.”

That's a lot more Latin than Kira's used to. “I thought Newton created calculus.”

“Nah,” Stiles answers. “Technically he and Leibniz co-founded it, though there was a long, protracted argument over whether or not Leibniz stole Newton's ideas.” She, Scott, and Malia stare at Stiles, who shrugs. “What? Like you expect any different from me?”

Not really.

Lydia just sighs and rolls her eyes, gently putting the hundreds year old book back in the box before setting it next to everyone else. Almost expectantly her gaze turns to Parrish, though instead of saying anything she just smiles.

Parrish, who's blushing slightly **—** _d'awwww_ _ **—**_ hands over a small perfectly wrapped present. “Guess I'm last.” Dear kami the two of them are so cute together it kind of makes her want to vomit rainbows.

Lydia takes it and with the same sort of precision she'd done with the others she undoes the tape from the glittering silver paper revealing a small, glossy, dark brown wooden box. It's gorgeously carved from what Kira can see. Barely making out a forest scene of some sort, maybe a deer; she'd have to get a closer look to make sure. By itself Kira thinks it would be a great gift, but Lydia tilts the lid up, the silver inner hinges glittering, revealing more white tissue paper. Folding back the tissue Lydia's eyes widen and Kira finds herself leaning forward in her seat. “What? What's in there?” Kira thinks she might be more excited about what's in there than Lydia is, and she had no idea if that's a good thing or not.

Lydia seems to take it in good humor though, giving a soft snort and rolling her eyes. Reaching in she grabs something and pulls out two shiny, pretty things.

Which is a horrible mental description Kira knows; since they are in fact a pair of silver hair combs. The tines are simple and plain, topped with spiny looking blue and white leaves, and what looks like seed pearl 'berries'. Kira doesn't care if she's gaping, those things damn well deserve it.

Lydia puts the two combs back and grabs something else. _More? Wow he must_ really _like her_.

These are another set of hair combs, but with more wavy tines and topped with large pieces of abalone. They go back in the box. As gently as she'd unfolded it Lydia puts the tissue paper back and closes the box. She looks directly at Parrish and smiles, “All of it's gorgeous Jordan. I love them.” He blushes deeper, and the urge to vomit rainbows returns to Kira, dear kami she feels like they deserve their own romance novel or something. One of the ones that make you ridiculously happy, and a little jealous at how cute the couple is.

Tearing her gaze away from them she looks at Scott and gives him the biggest smile she can. Eyes crinkling he happily returns it.

Lydia’s looking a little ragged around the edges, which Kira totally gets. It may have been over a week since all the stuff with Kate and the deadpool ended but sometimes she finds herself still tensing for no reason. And Kira doesn’t see any sort of problem with being the one to start encouraging everyone to go. So standing she claps her hands lightly together. “Thanks Lydia for inviting us.”

Which brings a twitching smile to Lydia’s lips. “I’m pretty sure you all would have crashed the party if I hadn’t invited you. The gifts are all nice, and the clean up you did is appreciated.” It hasn’t escaped Kira’s notice that while she was speaking Lydia leaned more towards Parrish.

Kira reaches out and tugs Scott upright. “Well,” she injects her voice with cheer hoping everyone else’ll also get the hint. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

“I can still walk, unlike Stiles,” Lydia says drolly as she stands.

Indeed looking over at Stiles Kira sees he's close to passing out. She and Scott share a look before heading over and helping him up.

—

Jordan hangs back as Lydia sees everyone out. The way her shoulders slump in exhaustion when she closes the door is obvious to him. Before he can think he finds himself reaching out to pull her into a hug, then starts to hesitate, before following through. Everything that happened tonight filling him with renewed purpose.

Still she gives a little start of surprise at his touch before going to him. “Why did that feel harder than it should have been?” She cuddles closer, seemingly uncaring of what he'll do now that they've been about as intimate as you can get short of sharing brain space. Then again what they've done together tonight is a little mind-blowing even to him.

“I can't really answer that Lydia, if you want though I'll go too.”

She pulls away a little and levels a look at him. “Not on your life, you're staying unless you want to go.” She returns to hugging him. “We could watch a movie or something.”

That sounds nice actually. “Sure.” He dips down to lay a peck on her nose before pulling away.

While Lydia sets up in the den he goes back outside and grabs the final present, a box wrapped in dark green paper glamoured to be overlooked. Holding like it's glass he returns to find her seated on the couch. There’s background music from the DVD menu but he doesn’t bother to see what movie it is, he’s certain he’ll enjoy it if he’s watching it with her. “Before we get to into other things there's one more present for you.” He presents it with a little bow.

Her lips twitch as she takes it. “You didn't have to get me another present Jordan, the hair combs and jewelry box were enough. Though after Peter's gift not a lot of others measured up.”

He bites back a little laugh. “This isn't from me, it's from your mother.”

She looks at the green wrapped box in surprise. “Oh.” Like she did her other presents she unwraps it slowly. He sits next to her, watching patiently.

The box inside is tall and slightly rectangular and opens easily. The tissue paper inside is the same green and gets pulled out, she freezes when she sees what's inside.

Her hands shake as she lifts out a diadem of gold wrought in the shapes of holly leaves. The leaves are encrusted with emeralds, and there are rubies embedded to stand in for berries. Lydia looks at him as if unsure if what to make of it. Sliding off the couch he kneels in front of her. She doesn't resist when he takes the diadem out of her hands and rises up a little to settle it on her head. “Hail Lydia, princess of Winter. My lady unto my death.” No matter what happens that will always be true.

A small blush paints her cheeks. “I don't feel like a princess.”

Despite himself his lips twitch. “I don't think that matters.” Rising up a little he kisses her forehead, a little amazed that he can. “It's something that's yours and yours alone.”

Her blush deepens again. “Tell my mother thank you.”

“You can tell her yourself now, you know. That's not all of the gift.” Getting up he sits back down on the couch.

Still a little stunned by the diadem she reaches back into the box, fingers searching for what else might be inside. It's clear on her face when she finds the other parts and soon they're out of the box too. She looks at him a little confused by the checkbook and debit card. “What are these?”

“Before you were born your parents set up accounts for you. Though according to the queen the card will also access her accounts should you need to withdraw more money. I dare say you'll never have to worry about money ever again.”

She stares at them so long he starts to grow a little worried. Almost painfully slow she sets them back into the box and takes a shuddering breath. Without any sort of warning she twists and crawls into his lap, wrapping herself around him and burying her face in his shoulder. He starts to open his mouth to ask what she’s doing when he feels his shoulder start to grow damp with tears.

Closing his mouth he wraps one arm around her while his other removes the diadem from her hair, gently putting it aside before circling around her too. Impulsively he starts humming an old Breton song he remembers from his childhood **—** or what little childhood a fae like him experienced. It clashes with music still going in the background but he doesn’t care.

—

Stiles wakes panting, unable to move, and realizing there's someone in his room. Which is when the terror kicks in.

After a brief bout of adrenaline and panic at not being able to move or do _anything_. His brain starts to work a little. _Hypnopompic_ _Isolated Sleep Paralysis: characterized by muscle weakness, being unable to speak, and hallucinations, most often that you are not alone in your room._

Which doesn't make the experience any _less_ terrifying. As he can currently attest to.

_Episodes ISP usually occur only once in a person’s lifetime and can last up to a few minutes, unless one happens to suffer from Recurrent ISP, in which case the episode can last more than an hour. This is rare._

He thinks he might be just as afraid of his brain as the non-existent person in his room at the moment. The facts it's throwing out not helping with his panic at all. He doesn't want to be trapped like this for a whole _hour_ or _more._  Oh God, what if he has a panic attack? He can't call out for help, and Stiles knows you can, in fact, scare yourself to death.

That only makes his panic worse. He can manage to squeeze his eyes shut, barely even noticing the tears that escape. He doesn't want to die, not like this. Okay Zdzisław Robert Stilinski you need calm down. _So what calms me down?_

Almost as if it had been waiting for that question, a memory of his mother **—** before she got sick **—** curled up next to him, one of her hands running through his hair softly singing a lullaby comes to mind.  _“Oj lulaj, lujaj/ Maleńki sukole/ Oj, jak ty mie urośniez/ Pójdziesz ze mną w pole...Kołysz mi się, kołysz/ Od ściany do ściany/ To ja ci uwiję/ wianecek ruciany”_

Squeezing his eyes shut even tighter he forces himself to start taking slow, deep breaths while imagining his mother curled up next to him, singing that same lullaby to him. Mentally he translates it into English to give his brain something to do besides panic.  _“Go to sleep, go to sleep/ You little falcon/ When you grow/ We'll go to the field...Rock and rock/ From side to side/ and I'll weave for you/ A rue wreath.”_

He does feel calmer but he still can't move. Considering it couldn't have been more than two minutes since he woke he's going to do his best to not work himself into another panic. Okay, so don't think about the person not in the room with you. Since it'd just come up in his mother's lullaby he asks himself: _what do I know about rue?_

_Rue is an herb mainly found in the Balkans, in ancient times up to now thought to have medicinal properties, from sharpening eyesight to inducing abortions, debatable as to whether or not these are true. Exposure to rue on the skin can cause burn like blisters. It's commonly used in Ethiopian cuisine._ _It's wrongly associated with the verb 'rue' and so has grown to symbolically represent regret, it's the only plant not affected by a basilisk. In Eastern Europe as well as the Balkans rue's associated with purity and virginity. Sometimes rue is also associated with female infidelity._

He breaths a few more times and tries to move a hand. It moves. _Fuck yeah!_ Opening his eyes Stiles sits up and looks around.

Immediately feels the need to hurl.

He manages to get to the bathroom and at the toilet before he throws up. When he finishes he flushes and rests his head against the cool porcelain, feeling physically better, but his mind's still a little freaked out from the whole ISP thing. Part of him's tempted to pop some Adderall to help settle his brain, but he's trying to be better about taking that only when he should and...

Knocking on the door pulls him out of his thoughts, and he feels a little bad for waking his dad. Hauling himself up he goes and opens the door, which he hadn't even realized he'd closed. Dad pulls him into a hug and Stiles can only accept it, stunned. “You alright?”

Stiles wants to lie, because worrying his dad always makes him feel queasy. Like he's being a burden and bothering him. The conversation they had at the hospital a few weeks ago floats back up to the top of his memory and well... “I'll be fine dad. I just had a nightmare, woke up in sleep paralysis and had to think my way out of a panic attack. So my body is a little...” He pulls away from his dad and makes a little wavy motion to try and convey being off balance **—** and he decides it might be best not to mention the alcohol. He doesn't mention the hallucination either, because really, that's part and parcel of ISP and doesn't need mentioning on its own.

Dad's clearly worried but he's also relieved. “That doesn't sound fine at all Stiles.”

“Dad trust me, that combination of events was, like, one in a billion. Probably never happen again...well the sleep paralysis part.” Being around so many supernatural creatures who regularly throw themselves into danger is basically begging for him to get panic attacks again; and he doesn't even want to think what a panic attack post-nogitsune's gonna look like. Nightmares are kind of a given.

He resists the urge to duck away when dad ruffles his hair. “If you're wrong, I'm going to ground you.” It sounds more like a ribbing than anything else though and Stiles finds himself rolling his eyes. A part of him is thinking this isn't really something to joke about. His dad's expression turns a little more serious again. “Do you remember the nightmare?”

Shaking his head Stiles actually steps out into the hall, no reason for him to hang out in the bathroom anymore. “Not really. I think I was being chased but...yeah, it's all kind of a haze.” It isn't like Stiles expects himself to remember every dream he's ever had perfectly but he's kind of good at remembering them, so the fact this one is getting away from him is frustrating.

Dad looks a bit more understanding than he should. “Alright. Try and get some more sleep if you can, you've got school in the morning.”

He's not sure if he'll actually get to sleep, but he nods anyways. “Will do pops, night.” He shuffles off back to his room. His heart jumping for a second when he happens to glance at the corner not-person had been in, like it expected it to be there still.

Flopping face first into bed he closes his eyes, for all of ten minutes **—** he counts **—** after that though he decides he's not going to get back to sleep anytime soon. It's 3:30 AM, he'd be getting up in a few hours for hang out with the pack anyways so he might as well stay up. Pushing himself up he gets out of bed and sits in front of his laptop, shaking his mouse to wake it up.

He's got all sorts of things to waste time on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: routines.
> 
> The lullaby Stiles sings to himself is in Polish, the whole thing and translation are [here (page 3)](http://www.folklore.ee/pubte/eraamat/eestipoola2/sikora.zebrowska.pdf).
> 
> Also basically all of Lydia's birthday presents exist, except for Derek's and the jewelry box Jordan got her. 
> 
> [Here's Stiles'](http://www.amazon.com/Discours-Histoires-Spectres-Visions-Apparitions/dp/2012540309) (if you understand French you can read the whole thing [here](http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k5545032t.r=th%C3%A9ophile+gautier.langFR)).  
> [Scott and Kira's](http://www.modcloth.com/shop/shoes-flats/proudly-posh-flat).  
> [Here](http://kershaw.kaiusaltd.com/knives/knife/secret-agent) are [both](http://kershaw.kaiusaltd.com/knives/knife/black-clash) of Malia's.  
> [Danny's](http://www.collectorsfolio.com/rare-books/96/221/leibniz-gottfried-wilhelm-nova-methodus-pro-maximis-et-minimis-in-acta-eruditorum-first-edition).  
> [Then both of](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikYkUxTFVKS2xRaVE/view?usp=sharing) the [hair combs](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikRnZMaEtEZE9IUUU/view?usp=sharing) Jordan got her.
> 
> All of the stuff Stiles rattles off about Hypnopompic Isolated Sleep Paralysis and rue are just straight from their respective Wiki pages.
> 
> As of right now it's generally agreed that Newton and Leibniz co-created calculus, and at the time there was a lot of back and forth over Leibniz supposedly stealing Newton's ideas.


	21. Chapter 21

Going into the glove store is an impulse for Lydia. It's not that she _needs_ new gloves, the ones she bought a few years ago still do their job in keeping her warm and fashionable, but once she's in the store and looking around she finds she wants another pair. An idea reaching out from the recesses of her brain and taking root in her conscious mind.

It’s also a little stress relief shopping, since school had started back up again **—** the rest of spring break had been fantastic, lots of sex and going out on an actual date with Jordan **—** things had felt, _tense._ It also felt like someone was trying to speak to her through a foot of concrete. Overall it bugged her so it’d be nice to blow off some steam.

Hearing someone moving around back, she goes up to the counter and hits the little call bell. A man who looks better suited for a biker gang than running a glove shop emerges from the back and smiles a little. “Afternoon. How can I help you?”

She smiles. “I'd like to order a pair of fitted gloves.”

The next fifteen minutes are spent measuring her hands **—** a process more detailed than she thought it would be **—** picking out just the right texture and color **—** black **—** of leather. While the man start tallying everything up another thought occurs to her. “You wouldn't happen to have a pale blue leather would you?”

He does, and after she inspects **—** not too powdery with a nice purple tint **—** it she orders a second pair.

When she hears the price she blanches a little, and gingerly pulls out her new debit card. She's had it tucked away in her wallet for the past week, but has yet to use it. The transaction goes through, much to her relief, and the man tells her her gloves should be done in about a week.

As she walks out of the store the idea blooms into wondrous anticipation, _one week_.

—

Stiles gracelessly flops onto the bench next to Scott. “How’s it hanging Scotty?” Everyone’s so used to him that he doesn’t get strange looks. Scott rolls his eyes as he tries to take a bite of his over processed burger.

“Dude, you saw me like, ten minutes ago,” Scott’s voice is full of affection though. “What’s up with you?”

His leg bounces as he spears a french fry with his fork. “Well.” He pops his french fry into his mouth and decides fuck it, he needs to say it. Though he remembers to swallow before talking “Has Lydia seemed strange to you lately?” It’s kind of been bugging him how she’s avoiding them all.

Across the table Kira smiles. “She and Parrish are dating now.” Which is still so _weird_ for him to contemplate. He may have well and truly given up on any hope of being with Lydia himself, but still. “Maybe she’s just happy.”

Scott return his girlfriend’s smile, and Stiles turns slightly to make a gross face at Liam and Malia, because seriously, sometimes their dorkiness is just too much. Malia, in true fashion, rolls her eyes, but Liam kind of mimics him and it’s cute. “She’s got a lot on her plate Stiles,” Scott’s reminder pulls his attention back to his bro.

“Yeah, but still. I mean she hardly seems freaked out over Peter going off with Malia.”

Under the table Malia kicks him, hard enough that he might have a bruise. “That was _my_ choice Stiles, no matter what any of you were going to say to me I was going to go.” Her words are accompanied by a low rumble, though at least her eyes aren’t flashing. “So that’s not her fault.”

“It’s not like Peter and Lydia have all that much interaction right?” Kira asks.

Scott nods. “Yeah, I mean the last time they saw each other was at the station with Meredith.” Stiles doesn’t bother suppressing his shudder. “Your dad and Parrish were there the whole time. So maybe she’s not really worried about him because they don’t really interact. I mean it’s not all that cool that she might be forgetting him, but it also is, you know?”

Wrinkling his nose Stiles gives a grudging nod, if anyone has a right to forget Peter it’s Lydia. He kind of misses doing research with her **—** though it’d be nice to have a session that _isn’t_ accompanied by the usual ‘we might die’ panic. “Yeah, still kind of sure she’s avoiding us.” Lightly, Scott punches his arm. It’s a little ruined by the fact he blinks rapidly and yawns. Stiles frowns. “Dude, you okay?” At his words everyone else kind of stares at Scott, Liam most intently of all **—** which is only about half cute really.

“Yeah Stiles, just been having trouble sleeping lately.”

He opens his mouth to tell Scott he knows how he feels, but instead comes out: “Maybe you should lay off on that ‘howling at the moon’ stuff. I’m surprised Mrs. Jenkins hasn’t called in to file a noise complaint yet.” Which he _knows_ is something he would say, but that’s not what he’d wanted to say at all.

Scott laughs. “Yeah, maybe.”

It’s a little worrying to Stiles, but who knows. Maybe it’s just his brain to mouth filter finally kicking in.

—

The problem with Beacon Hills, Lydia thinks as she drives over to Eureka, is that it’s still small enough that the grapevine/gossip chain will still bite you in the ass. Case in point. Going to any of the design firms in town is a surefire way for her mother, the one who raised her, to realize that maybe the lake house didn’t change hands as much as she thought. There’s no good way to explain the fact that she got it as a birthday gift from a lover.

Luckily Eureka’s only a fifteen minute drive, or only about ten if you’re at the lake house itself. Meaning no firm in Eureka will find it strange that she’s going to one of them, instead of one in Beacon Hills. She’s sure the fact she’s got a million dollar budget will help too. Though she won’t be doing much ‘shopping around’ anyways, she’s got her choice and two backups just in case, but all the reviews she’s found suggest number one will work out just fine.

She finds parking easily enough and after climbing out of her car takes a deep breath, _this is the first step_. Towards what she’s isn’t quite sure but what she _is_ sure of is that this is the path she wants.

As she walks into the firm’s office she thinks she hears a voice whisper _‘independence’_ but she could be wrong.

—

It’s actually easier than Mason thought it would be to find Lydia in the crowded cafeteria. Holding his own lunch in his hands like it might ward off all sorts of evils he goes over to her. The only other person at the table he recognizes is Danny so he’s not feeling all that confident as he steps up next to her. “Hey, Lydia.”

She turns and gives him the brightest, most vapid smile he’s ever seen. “Mason!” She glares at the guy currently sitting next to her hard enough Mason’s surprised that his head doesn’t burst into flames. The guy gets the hint though and gets up. “Have a seat.”

A little anxiously he does, these are the _popular_ people after all and he’s always kind of been just... _there_. “Thanks, uh, how are you?” That’s something popular people still ask right? It’s also unnerving how different knows-about-supernatural Lydia is from popular Lydia.

“Oh I’m just fantastic. But hey, let me introduce you to everyone.” Almost rapidly she points to people and rattles off names, after a minute they start to sort of blur in his head. “Everyone this is Mason.” ...Was he just made popular? She gives him another fake smile. “I’m glad you decided to join us Mason,” he hopes she knows that sounds like something out of a creepy sci-fi horror movie.

He gives her the best smile he can in return, which granted is probably too awkward to be real but they’re just going to have to deal. “No problem.” Since it’s obvious he won’t be able to ask her outright if they can meet up to talk about supernatural stuff **—** he’s got about a million questions he wants to ask **—** he’ll have to try and think of a sneaky way. Maybe they could both learn Morse code.

Eating while he thinks he lets the babble of conversation was over him mostly, trying to be as non-committal as possible when asked questions. It’s not like he  _wants_ to be popular, though Danny and Lydia seem to enjoy being in the full thick of it.

As surreptitiously as possible he pulls out a scrap of paper from his notebook and jots down: _want to meet to talk about things_. Pulling it onto his lap he crumples it into a ball and hoping it doesn’t go anywhere _too_ inappropriate does his best to flick it onto her lap. She twitches, which he hopes means she felt it and not something else, and keeps right on talking with Elsie? Eve? Ellie?

The rest of lunch is kind of a decent into surrealism, so he’s relieved when the warning bell rings. Barely even hesitating when Lydia’s hand lands on his arm to stop him getting up. “Do you get picked up or take the bus home after school?”

“Bus.” Neither of his parents have the time to come get him anymore.

She gives a deft nod. “Meet me at the front doors after school and we’ll head over to my place to chat.”

“Alright.” This time she doesn’t stop him when he gets up to head to class.

*

Mason actually finds himself jumping when Lydia wraps her arm around his. “Uh,” he somehow manages to both not mind and still find it weird.

She lets go right away. “Sorry.” She blushes **—** which manages to erase any lingering traces of the ‘creepy sci-fi bot’ vibe from earlier **.** “Habit.” There’s really nothing he can say in response to that so he just follows as she walks to her car. The radio blares Ke$ha at them as the car rumbles into life. Lydia turns it down in favor of actual conversation. “So have you told Liam yet?”

“Yes.” It had been about a billion times more awkward than the coming out/sex talk he’d had with his parents in middle school. “He was kind of surprised, but I think he was also glad he didn’t have to hide from me anymore.” Liam had also let slip that Brett was a werewolf too **—** and what did that say about Mason that it made Brett even hotter? Not that he would tell Lydia any of that, unless she managed to get him drunk.

She smiles as she pulls onto a residential street. “That’s good, I’m glad it went well for you.” She makes a little face. “Scott might tell him to hide things from you.” It’s hard to miss the way her grip on the steering wheel tightens, or her unhappy tone **—** and the implication that that was what happened to her is unmistakable. “If you feel that might be happening come to me, and I can tell you everything _I_ know.”

Her words cause a warm lump in his chest. Since he found out he’s been doing some research on his own **—** though he doesn’t know how much of it is true or not **—** and if she really is part of Scott’s pack as the situation has implied, the fact that she’s willing to go against him for Mason is kind of huge. “Thanks,” though that word feels inadequate all of the sudden.

The smile she gives him this time is much larger than the last. “No problem.”

—

With a pained groan, Scott awakes from another nightmare. Rolling over a little he half-buries his face in a still chilly pillow. This time he can’t remember anything about the dream, except a feeling of menace and Peter.

 _Tell me something I don’t know_ , he thinks ruefully. Everything about Peter just rubs Scott the wrong way, and the fact he didn’t do anything to save Kate from Peter still grates on him even nearly two weeks on. How can anyone think just killing someone is a good idea? Granted, everyone except his pack had seemed to think that. He shivers remembering the scent of relief on Derek **—** who could turn into a full-wolf now when Scott still couldn’t.

He’d asked Deaton about that and the older man had just told him that when the time came it would happen to him. Which made it sound a lot like puberty, which was weird. Still Scott found himself worried about it, despite what Peter had said he wasn’t afraid of his werewolf self. The idea of becoming an animal like that was...unnerving. Maybe he just needed to go and talk to Derek about it.

Yeah, that sounded good.

—

“Are you alright?” Kira asks as she takes her usual seat behind Lydia.

Lydia turns a little in her seat and frowns. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” She sounds like the mere idea of not being alright is inconceivable. Which maybe from Lydia’s point of view it is. For Kira she’s just worried. She knows that Lydia has kind of clashed with Scott recently, especially concerning Malia, and it doesn’t really seem like the Lydia Kira’s known.

Kira shrugs and finds herself hoping Lydia doesn’t take this the wrong way. “I don’t know, you just seem out of it sometimes.”

Malia flops gracelessly into seat. “Out of what?”

She has no idea how to explain that. Trying to teach Malia how people...are, for lack of a better term, has kind of shown Kira how weird some idioms and sayings are.

“My surroundings,” Lydia wrinkles her nose a little as if implying that’s not quite right. “Kira’s worried my minds on other things, distracted, when I should be focused on here and now.” Clearly Kira needs to borrow Lydia’s brain the next time she has an argument with her parents, because that’s kind of it exactly.

Malia’s eyes narrow a bit. “You do smell more like...sex? than you usually do.”

Wow, way to be blunt, but Lydia takes it in stride, yet something else Kira wishes she could borrow from time to time. “That would be because I happen to be having more sex, though that’s not exactly something you should be mentioning out of the blue Malia.”

Malia’s thinking frown slots into place and shortly thereafter she nods. “Alright, but when should I bring up sex?”

At the moment Kira’s pretty sure she’s suffering from the biggest case of second-hand embarrassment. Granted it’s not like Malia seems to feel that specific emotion. Lydia laughs. “That depends on the people you’re with.” Before Malia can ask for elaboration on that subject Mrs. Jones comes in and promptly dives into the roll call. Leaving Kira to stew a little in her worry, despite Lydia’s reassurance she still thinks something is wrong with the other girl.

—

After school Lydia heads over to Jordan’s house, they don’t have anything planned, but so far they haven’t done anything close to resembling glamour training and she’s decided enough is enough. Even though she has a key now she knocks on the door, if he’s not home then she’ll let herself in. He soon answers, taken aback a little to see her there. “Lydia? Something wrong? I didn’t think we had anything planned for today.”

“We don’t.” She pushes herself onto her tippy-toes to give him a brief kiss. “I was actually hoping we could do some glamour practice.” It’s not like he can teach her banshee stuff after all. So she might as well learn what she can.

“Yeah, of course.” He steps aside. “Go on into the kitchen, I’ll join you in a moment.”

Despite the fact that it’s about as empty of adornment as the rest of the house, save a garden window full of plants **—** most of which she probably couldn't name **—** she actually likes the kitchen, it feels nice and simple. There’s only a little breakfast nook for seating. Pulling herself onto the stool she starts swinging her legs, waiting for Jordan to come back.

She doesn’t have long to wait, and he takes the seat across from her. Laying a dollar bill and a leaf on the table. “I know it might seem a little counter intuitive, but we’re going to start with creating something complex before we move onto something simple. Being able to get down the details, no matter how small will make even your simple stuff more believable.”

Lydia’s seen enough crime TV shows that she’s pretty sure she knows what he’s getting at. But to clarify. “Like making sure you’re dressed right so no one gives you a second look?”

“Basically. Now despite the fact that it’ll break once it’s been touched glamours are easier to put _on_ things, whether that be yourself, a house, or even.” He taps the table in between the leaf and the dollar. “A leaf or money." He pushes the dollar bill closer to her. “Make that look like a leaf.”

Which isn’t quite the direction she thought he’d be going with this, but she can go with it. She starts to place her hand on the dollar but stops right before she touches it. “I can touch it and still place the glamour on it right?”

He nods. “It’s anyone else’s touch that will break the magic. Now I’m going to close my eyes, when you think you’re done tell me and we’ll see if I can tell the difference between your two leaves.”

Instead of setting her hand on the dollar she moves it over to the leaf, picking it up and feeling it. If this was all about details than just looking at the leaf wouldn’t be enough. It’s a new leaf, and not one of the old fallen ones from last year; green, springy, and completely smooth except for the veins. Going back to the dollar bill she finally picks it up, and in her mind begins to picture the leaf. How it felt in her hand, the colors, how the veins created slight valleys in the upwards facing side. She can feel something begin to build up in her mind and she starts...pushing it into her hand and the dollar.

When she glances back down at her hand it looks like she’s holding another leaf. She sets it down, and to make sure he doesn’t spot it right away, swaps the two leaves positions a few times. “Okay.”

Jordan opens his eyes and looks down. He sets his hands down on the table, but doesn’t reach out to touch either leaf. He does lean in a little closer. After a tense minute he reaches out. “This one.” The moment he touches it it becomes a dollar bill again.

She will _not_ get angry with herself about not doing it right. She’s brand new to this, she’s bound to fail more times than she succeeds. “What’d I do wrong?”

“You overcompensated on the highlights and shadows, did more work than you had to. Light will interact with a glamoured object the same way it would a regular one, you adding in those interactions yourself makes it obvious.” He picks up the dollar bill himself, rubbing it between his fingers. “Now close your eyes and we’ll see if you can spot the glamour this time.”

Giving a little sigh she does.

—

Stiles collapses into the seat next to Lydia. “Hey, so, pack study session?” Apparently he didn’t have that brain to mouth filter long. He’s surprised he even had one at all, even if it was only for, like, six seconds.

“Hello to you too Stiles.” Her lips twitch in that vaguely amused way that totally means she’s interested. “Why, exactly?”

“Does there need to be a reason?” He shrugs. “I mean we pig out on junk food, hopefully learn, you can express resigned annoyance when the rest of us screw up something. We all bond, prosper, and hopefully excel in school. They'll be giving us the PSAT again next month.” He’s pretty sure that’ll convince her considering how she complained about wanting to pay attention in school before spring break started. He'd rather not think about _why_ they're re-doing PSAT.

Hey, if he and Scott and find a way to subtly question her about things than so much the better.

She rolls her eyes. “With reasons like that, how can I say no?” Despite the sarcasm he thinks she just agreed to it. “When exactly would this be?” Yep, totally agreed.

“After school today.” Yeah, short notice he knows. That’s a little the point with this.

He gets her best ‘bitch please’ face in response. “I’ve got plans.” Her tone brooks no arguments.

Stiles is undaunted, and there’s totally no shame in him. “Aww, come on,” he whines. “How are we going to be a better pack if we don’t do things together?”

“Even on our best days I wouldn’t exactly call us a pack Stiles,” Lydia’s aggrieved tone rankles a little.

His eyes narrow, no matter what she says they _are_ a pack. Sure they still don’t know how best to work together but it’s not like they’ve had the breathing room to figure it out. “You can just say no.”

Which gets him a flat look. “Pretty sure I already did when I told you I had plans.”

He sneers. “What with Parrish?” Who none of them really know anything about, and that’s kind of not right.

She arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yes, so? We’re dating, we’re allowed to do things together. That’s the way dating works.”

He nearly bites out that she doesn't need to rub it in his face, but somehow he manages to keep it in. “Why don't you invite him to come too?” Maybe he and Scott could subtly question Jordan as well, and Stiles could give him the customary 'if you hurt Lydia' speech **—** didn't even matter if Parrish was seven years his senior.

“Yes Stiles, because a study session is exactly where I want to go on a date with a man who isn't even in college anymore.” She turns her attention back to her notebook, implying this conversation is over.

He bounces his leg a few times, thinking. “What if we did another one this weekend?”

Lydia's shoulders slump in a silent sigh. “I'm busy Sunday, but I've got nothing on Saturday.”

 _Score_. “[I'll talk to everyone today and figure out a time that works for everyone.” The subtle questions _will_ happen, come hell or high water.

“Fine. Text me.”

“Course.” He flips open his own notebook and begins doodling in the margins. Lydia's mom comes in and starts class, though Stiles already knows all of this so he lets his mind drift a little, hand and pen still doodling.

Later, when class had finished he looked down and realized his 'doodle' is in fact an all-too-familiar tangle of roots.

—

Peter consciously takes up most of Jordan's couch as he waits for Lydia to arrive from school. Jordan will most likely get here a short while later, but not before Lydia.

Speaking of, the sound of a car door shutting has him turning his head towards the door. Shortly after the sound of a key sliding into the lock has him focusing his attention and shifting more upright. “I'm here,” Lydia calls out as she enters and drops off her bag.

“In the living room,” Peter answers.

She enters, smile on her face and hands oddly behind her back. “Hello.” As she heads towards the couch he sits upright and turns so that they can kiss when she reaches the other side of the back.

This close he can smell sharp leather on her, for a moment he thinks she went to go visit Jordan earlier, but the scent is _too_ sharp and anyways Jordan'd put his foot down and asked that they not bother him unless they absolutely had to while he was at work. He's smiling himself when they pull apart. “Why do you smell like leather sweetheart?”

A low soft laugh leaves her and pretty much makes him rock hard. “Turn back around.”

Feeling a little wary he does. There's a rustle of movement behind him and then the leather scent grows stronger as her fingers run through his hair, feeling much smoother against his skin than usual. “I got new gloves,” she tells him before he can even ask.

The leather creaks as she tightens her grasp, pulling his hair just this side of too much. He sits a little more upright to ease some of the tension. “What do you plan on doing with them?” The way she hid them implies she didn't want him to know about them until she told him. He sneezes and feels certain he lost a few strands of hair in the process. The pain's good though.

“Oh, a little this, a little that.” Her hands leave his hair to smooth down his neck and under his shirt, the sensation of the leather pleasant and new. The innuendo in her voice is clear and Peter's coming to the wonderful conclusion their sex life is never going to be boring.

He starts turning back around and her hands leave. “Well then.” His own hands move up to start playing with her hair. “Let's get started with 'this and that' then.”

Her smile is interrupted by a yelp when he pulls her over the back of the couch onto his lap. He kisses it all better. Before he knows it his shirt is gone and Lydia is running her leather covered hands all over his chest; rubbing his nipples, playing with the trail of hair just above his pants. Every touch makes him start a little because the texture's not at all what he's expecting. Not that he _dis_ likes it. It’s just not the same sensation as usual. Lydia’s fingers make quick work of undoing his pants, and he can’t even find it in himself to care that she’s still dressed. He arches up off the couch when one of her leather covered hands cups the head of his cock, deliciously smooth and warm. “Christ.”

Lydia’s laugh is low again as she lets go and begins trying to shove down his pants and boxers, he helps as much as he can, feeling only a little hurt when she starts batting away his attempts to help. Soon enough though he’s naked and she’s kneeling above him a wonderfully wicked smile on her lips as her gloved hands return to his cock. They wrap around him tightly, tight enough that he’s nearly tricked into thinking he’s inside her, his hips jerk. For the longest time they just remain there, holding him but not doing anything else. If this keeps up he has no idea what he’ll do. “Lydia,” he doesn’t think she’ll miss the warning in his tone.

“Peter,” she chides back. “You don’t get much of a say in this _dear_ ,” her voice and tone are saccharine sweet and he shudders. He might prefer, on the whole, to be the one in control; but right now with Lydia’s leather covered hands on him and her kneeling above him looking very much like a naughty librarian? He’s willing to hand over the reins for a while.

He makes his body relax, be loose and unresisting beneath her; and knowing she’s staring at him intently bares his neck, just enough. The expression that blooms over Lydia’s face does something to his insides and he grunts when she leans down and sets her teeth lightly on the muscles there. Keeping her teeth at his neck she pumps her hands again, the movements becoming smoother as she gathers up some of his pre-come. She stops when she lets go. He feels her breath move up to his ear. “Thank you.”

He shivers, then bites back a sound of disappointment when she lets go of him. “Lydia?”

She shifts over a little and gives him a brief kiss. “We’re gonna move to the dining room table, I want to try something.” She climbs off him in the most enticing way possible and he manages a huff of amusement.

Which earns him a twitch of a smile. “Well?” She sways her hips as she walks backwards towards the dining room.

“Aren’t you afraid we might break the table?” Jordan’s table is solid oak; it’d take a lot to break it. Standing up he starts to follow her.

He gets a laugh in response. “Then maybe you’ll just have to buy him a new one in apology.” Reaching out she pinches him lightly on his hip. “Xome on, up on the table.” Climbing up he does his best to settle the curl of nerves rising from his stomach. Sort of nerves he gets when someone else is basically in complete control, but he trusts Lydia.

As if she can sense his emotions **—** and maybe she can it’s not like he’s gone out of his way to fully explore the bond he created between them **—** her hands glide up his legs in a stroking manner, and she leans down to lay a kiss on the inside of his knee. Her hands stop on his hips, and he finds himself actually spreading his legs a little to give her better access to do whatever she has planned.

“I want to try something.” She steps up to the edge of the table, inside the 'v' of his legs.

“What?” He jumps a little when one of her thumbs begins rubbing a soothing circle.

She stares at a spot on his chest for a little while before looking him in the eye again. “I was thinking maybe I could...finger you?” Her blush implies she’s slightly embarrassed over having just asked that.

 _Oh,_ he finds himself staring at a spot over her shoulder, it's rare for him to agree to penetration **—** a statement he's sure more than a few Freudian psychologists could get years of study out of **—** but right now with the sensations of Lydia's gloved fingers resting on his hips? Realizing what they might feel like inside him? “Alright.”

Lydia smiles like the sun and gives his cock a firm pump. “I'll be right back. Don't move.” She lays a brief kiss on his chest then leaves the dining room.

Which is about when Jordan comes home. Either monumentally good timing or some variation of fate. “Hello?”

To answer or not to answer? It isn't like Jordan wouldn't find him eventually. “In the dining room.”

Jordan soon enters, then stops. “Why are you naked on my table?”

Before Peter can come up with an answer Lydia returns. “Hi Jordan,” her voice is innocently cheerful. He turns to look at Lydia and stops again, Peter off handedly wondering if Jordan's mouth is watering as much as Peter's at Lydia's slight change in dress.

From the waist down she's still fully clothed. But while finding lube she'd gotten rid of her blouse, leaving her in only a dark green bra and those devious black gloves. It's a delectable sight, one that makes him want to get off the table and fuck her into a wall.

“Lydia...?” Jordan looks bewildered, though not in a bad way.

She smiles deviously at him. “You can have a seat and watch the show. Unless you want to join Peter on the table...” she drifts off suggestively, and Jordan flushes. You’d think a being over a thousand years old would be better at hiding his emotions than Jordan is. Peter finds himself hoping he never learns how.

Jordan steps around the table so he’s by Peter’s head. “I’ll, uh, sit.”

“Ok.” Lydia hooks a nearby chair with an ankle and drags it over for herself to sit on. Daintily she perches on the edge, his gaze is riveted as she pops the cap and squeezes out a dollop of lube on her middle and pointer fingers.

In part to relax himself Peter stretches out his arms, with the vague intention of 'reaching' for Jordan. Despite the fact that he looks half in a daze Jordan notices his gesture and reaches out his own hands to grasp Peter's own, giving a light squeeze. Tilting his head back Peter can see Jordan. It's only a little disorienting that he's upside down. The tentative encouraging smile Jordan gives him though is unmistakable and Peter barely twitches when he feels a leather covered thumb start circling his anus. Lydia's movements are slow and steady though, and he's probably the most taken aback out of all of them by the groan she gets out of him.

As soon as it came the thumb leaves, soon replaced by the fingers she'd lubed moments before. “Ready?”

“Just do–ah!” Clever Lydia, pulling a page straight from his book. He'd be proud if he wasn't being constantly distracted by the sensations created by a finger steadily pushing in. His grip on Jordan's hands is probably painfully tight, but he'll make it up to Jordan later.

His cock practically bounces when she grazes his prostate and Lydia's grin is far too satisfied. “There it is.”

The second time she hits it he has to close his eyes, groaning again. She relents a little and moves to tease him in other ways, clearly intending for this to last. He's not sure if he can take that. “ _Lydia_ ,” it comes out more like a guttural growl than anything else.

Her other hand joins in, once more wrapping around his cock. “Yes Peter?” Her voice is rough and he can smell arousal pouring off her in waves.

Opening his eyes he tilts his head down to look at her. “Stop,” **—** her fingers twist inside and his hips buck **—** “teasing.”

She pouts at him. “That's the whole point Peter.” She leans in and lays a kiss on his hip, leaving a lipstick hickey behind. “Now unless you're going to tell me to stop, shush.” Then the wretched woman begins adding her second lubed finger into the mix. Baring his teeth at her, no one's told him to 'shush' since he was a pup, he spreads his legs apart even more. As if daring her to do her worst. She gives a wicked smile **—** one he wants to see her wear more often **—** and damn well does her level best.

When she finally lets him come, he's pretty sure he exemplifies 'rode hard, put away wet' **—** he's not sure he cares. A noise reaches his ears that might be Lydia removing her gloves. Shortly thereafter she's on the table next to him, cuddled up to his side. Almost gently she gives him a peck on his cheek. “Thank you.”

Peter barely manages a nod in response, his arms sag as he feels Jordan disentangle himself and he only vaguely tracks the sounds of Jordan moving. He doesn't react when he feels one of Jordan's hands rest on his hip, but he does manage a twitch when the other man begins licking him clean. After nuzzling his jaw with her cheek Lydia scoots down and joins Jordan.

At the moment he finds he's more than happy to lay there as they clean him, the wolf inside him rumbling in approval. In between licks Peter watches the two of them trade sloppy kisses until they've gotten every last drop. Then they're both curling around him on the table **—** which manages to hold their weight handily. Their faces are close enough that Peter leans into Lydia and does his own spot of grooming, licking up the stray bits of semen she missed on herself, she gives a happy hum and bares her neck enough to let him do his own bit of scent marking. When he's finished with her he does the same with Jordan.

Silence reigns between them for a little while before. “While this was all well and fun, my table isn't exactly the most comfortable place to cuddle.” Jordan manages to make it sound like it's far more uncomfortable than it really is, not that Peter's going to argue.

Lydia's bare hand lands on his chest as she pushes herself up. “Last one to the bedroom is a rotten egg.” She leaps off the table and bounds out of the dining room.

Peter spares the briefest of moments to share and exasperated glance with Jordan before he's up like a shot, using his werewolf speed to handily catch up to Lydia. Playing dirty scooping her up and tossing her onto his shoulder.

She screeches. “Jordan! Save me!”

The only response she gets is laughter from the bottom of the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: There's something in the preserve...
> 
> Also had a total blank moment in ch. 19 and didn't put up [the FC of Morana](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikNFR6c0tOYW1MLW8/view?usp=sharing).


	22. Chapter 22

Mason mashes buttons on his controller at a rapid pace, baring his teeth in annoyance as his character's HP keeps dropping. “No, no, no, no...” Next to him Liam's face is narrowed in concentration. Mason's character hits zero and the KO screen appears. He purposefully drops his controller onto his lap and gives a sigh of profound annoyance. “Dude, I thought we agreed no werewolf shit.”

Liam's ears flush. “Sorry, it's just kind of hard _not_ to use them.” Mason's starting to get that. Doesn't mean it still doesn't annoy the shit out of him.

“Alright, then I want to use your superpowers to my advantage.” He tosses his controller at Liam, who catches it, and half climbs, half collapses out of his beanbag and to his shelf of games. A small part points out that it's pretty damn late, or maybe it's 'early' now. The two of them should be heading to bed, especially considering there was another pack study group **—** and how weird was that? **—** later in the afternoon.

That doesn't stop him from pulling out _Portal 2._  “We're doing co-op as fast as we can.”

The grin Liam gives him reminds him far too much of an eager puppy. “Alright.” He tosses back Mason's controller after he switches games **—** while Mason fumbles it he _does_ manage to not drop it—before scooting the the edge of his own chair. “You'd better not slow me down.”

“Oh please, like your thumbs of lightning are going to help you here.”

—

Danny wakes, feeling a little disoriented. He thinks he might have been having a nightmare, but it's vague and indistinct and probably one of those stupid ones where you're walking around naked but don't realize it. It takes him a little longer than he'd like to realize his cell is ringing. A little fumbling later he snags it and hits the answer button. “Aloha?” Wow, he must still be half asleep if he is speaking Ōlelo Hawaiʻi to a complete stranger. Mom and dad are good about teaching him and Katie it and Pidgin but outside the home they don't speak it much.

There's no answer from the other side. “Hello?” Maybe they just didn't hear him the first time. Still no response, making this either a shit robo-dial, or a creep. “I'm hanging up...”

“Danny?”

All his words dry up and Danny buries his face in the pillow for a few seconds. He comes up quickly though. “I kind of hate you right now,” he tells Ethan. The alarm clock catches his eye and he wrinkles his nose. “Scratch that, I really hate you. It's _five AM_ , on a Saturday.”

“Shit, sorry.” He can picture exactly the face Ethan is making. The one that kind of makes Danny’s heart melt. “I could call back later?”

He sighs and rolls over. “No, I'm pretty much up now. So why'd you call?” It's kind of a rude question, but Danny feels justified in asking, since, you know, he hasn't actually _heard_ anything from Ethan since November. Now he’s calling him? Yeah, Danny's a little suspicious.

Ethan snorts. “What, I can’t call you?”

“Considering all I've been getting from you since you left is postcards with nothing on them _and_ you broke up with me, I don't know if you really can call me. Mixed signals are not helping whatever sort of case you might want to make.” Mixed signals are the bane of Danny’s existence. Getting them from Ethan kind of hurts, because Danny still really likes Ethan and it's hard to tell if he's being lead around by the nose—maybe he'll go over to Lydia’s later today and they can pretend to get drunk and talk about it.

“Hey, the last postcard I sent you has something on it.”

Danny does the most unenthusiastic jazz hand he can. “Progress. Not that I've actually _gotten_ that postcard yet.” Danny knows this isn't a drunk booty call—and not just because werewolves can’t get drunk. “Look, Ethan, either say what you want to say or I'm hanging up.”

He hears Ethan muttering to himself on the other end for a few moments, before finally. “I've been thinking about coming back to Beacon Hills.”

That's his heart doing flips, Danny's sure. “Soon?” Danny doesn't quite know if this is great news or horrible news. On one hand his birthday is next month and wouldn't that be a fantastic gift to have nothing but Ethan wearing a bow and...on the other Ethan might well go out of his way to avoid him if he does come back.

“Maybe?” He doesn't even need to see Ethan to know he's shuffling his feet. “I don't know, it's just...I've been all over”—Danny knows, he's got a wall nearly covered in postcards to prove it—“and trying to figure stuff out, and I kind of keep coming back to the fact that, despite everything that happened, Beacon Hills sort of became home.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Throwing his blankets off he sits up.

Ethan's quiet for a few seconds. “I wanted you to know first? Or, I didn't want to surprise you if I did come back without warning. I don't know. And, just, I was kind of thinking, if I did come back, maybe we would run into each other somewhere and we could act like we've never met before, and I might ask you out and you might say yes. But, you know, starting fresh either way.”

That's...that's somehow really romantic. “Maybe?” He bites his tongue and he grimaces, _here is Danny, hypocrite of mixed signals_. But he really doesn’t know, because on one hand being with Ethan again would be fantastic, on the other, well. “You might have to earn it first.” He wants to love, or at the very least lust, with Ethan wholeheartedly. He’s been burned and hurt before by exes however.

“I, I can try and do that.” Ethan actually sounds happy about it.

Over the line Danny hears a sort of buzzing sound. “What’s that?”

He hears a very quiet, ‘ _shit_ ’. “The last call for the bus. Look I’ll try and call you again in a few days, alright? Let you know if I’ve come to a decision.”

“Alright,” Danny hates the way his voice shakes a little, shit, yeah, he and Lydia are going to pig out on junk food and watch horrible movies. “Talk to you then.” He doesn’t wait for Ethan to respond before hanging up, tossing his phone back onto his nightstand. Flopping back onto his bed he closes his eyes and takes a few shuddering breaths to try and calm his emotions.

Frost, what have I gotten myself into?

—

Malia wiggles her toes in the rug in Scott's living room, enjoying the unusual texture of it. Her ears twitch a little as she hears Mrs. McCall and Scott move around in the kitchen, the _swish, swish_ of Stiles' legs swinging on the bar stool as he and Scott chatter about lacrosse. Kira, Liam, and Mason would be there soon, and then they'd study and she swore to herself she'd pay attention. Despite her best efforts with Derek she still can't attain a full shift, and she's beginning to resign herself to the fact that she might be stuck as a human.

The rest of her is still and patient as Lydia—who smells a little cold but still strongly of sex—runs a comb through her hair. Malia's more than capable of doing her own hair—Lydia and Kira have taught her a few simple styles—but she also recalls grooming other coyotes to bond. So every once in a while she's more than happy to sit and let Lydia play with her hair. Lydia's movements are steady and sure as she works out the tangles; or at least they are until she stops.

Shifting to relieve some of the tingling in her ass Malia finds herself frowning. “What?”

Lydia's hands soon replace the comb and Malia feels Lydia move some of her hair aside. “You're missing some hair?” She sounds both worried and amused.

 _Oh._  “That happened at La Igelesia.” A faint shiver races through her at the memory of the Berserker trying to pull her through the window.

A soft sigh reaches her eyes. “Malia,” Lydia chides gently. “You should have gone in and gotten your hair cut, it's been three weeks.”

Malia pulls her legs a little closer to her chest. “I don't see why?” Hair grows back, she knows _that_.

Lydia's hands let go of the hanks of hair they'd taken, but her hands remain in Malia's hair, rubbing gently against her scalp in a pleasurable manner. “It's a little hard to explain since you won't understand much of it, but it's better if your hair is even enough to make caring for it easier. You don't want those parts of your hair to be _always_ shorter do you?”

Once more Malia frowns. “No?” She's not sure though, hair's more complicated to look after than fur.

“If you want we can go in together, I'm in need of a trim anyways.” Lydia's hands leave and the comb comes back. “Haircuts aren't as scary as you might think they are.” Certain it's not fear Malia feels at the prospect, more wary suspicion of anyone not in the pack touching her like that, she none the less nods. Lydia wouldn't intentionally lie to her.

Lydia stops brushing her hair, apparently content with it's tangle-free state. Malia takes the comb from Lydia as she begins separating her hair for braiding.

A car turns down the street and Malia focuses her hearing. She probably won't ever be able to listen to a conversation in a car, but she's found that the sounds of a car can tell her who's it is. She recognizes the car, and after comparing it to what she remembers calls out. “Kira's going to be here soon.”

The conversation in the kitchen dies down as Scott comes bounding out of it like and excited...well, puppy. Tires crackle on the driveway and _everyone_ can hear the car door shut. Then Kira's knocking on the door and Scott yanks it open. They smile at each other as Kira comes in. “Hey everyone.”

There's a chorus of 'hellos' as she sets her backpack on the couch. While Lydia's clearly focused on Malia's hair she can feel the other girl shift slightly away from Kira.

Stiles comes in, carrying a truly large platter covered in snacks. “Hey Kira.” He sets the platter down and Malia finds herself reaching for it, only to get her hair tugged and her hand slapped away. “No eating until everyone's here.”

Malia pouts but goes back to her previous position.

Scott frowns a little though at Stiles' words. “Liam and Mason should be here by now.” He pulls out his phone and checks it. His frown deepens and his scent grows worried. Thumbs begin to move as Scott probably types a message to Liam—phones still confuse her sometimes. “Hopefully he answers soon.”

Malia has a good idea of what they'll do if he doesn't. Save them and hurt the people who messed with the pack.

—

The cool air burns in Mason's lungs as he jogs after Liam, who isn't tearing ahead of him like the last time they went running together. This time there aren't bounty hunters wanting to kill Liam—and if there were Mason knows who to call for help now. Liam's own jog slows, then stops. Meaning Mason catches up. As he tries to catch his breath Liam checks his phone. “Shit.”

“What?” Mason leans a little closer.

“We're late for studying.” Liam tilts his phone a little to show a text from Scott.

 _Oh_ , Mason looks around. They're on one of the lesser used trails in the preserve, but a clear one, following it back shouldn't be too hard. “Say you're sorry and that we'll be there soon.” Scott will understand.

Liam nods as the two of them turn and begin walking back, Liam's eyes glued to his screen as he replies. After he puts his phone away they pick up the pace and start jogging again. Or they're jogging until Liam stops again. Mason spins around to ask what's up until the sees Liam's eyes glowing gold. “Liam?” He whispers.

He gets a sharp shake of Liam's head in response and he keeps his mouth shut as Liam begins smelling the air. _Something_ causes the nearby trees to rustle and Mason feels his heart being to race; Liam's head snaps towards the direction of the rustling trees and his nose flares. Liam steps closer to Mason—which _oh thank God_ for that—shifting even further. The trees rustle again and by this point Liam's back is nearly plastered against Mason's front. “If I say run, you run alright?”

Mason nods. This isn't like that time with the Berserker where he and Lydia didn't have a choice. His hand shakes as he moves it up to rest on Liam's shoulder. “Please don't do the stupid thing and try and fight it off?”

Before Liam can answer the something bursts from the trees, all Mason sees is a flash of lion and _person_ and he feels a small flash of shame when he doesn't wait for Liam before turning and running.

Seconds later Liam's caught up to him as the monster, it really can't be anything _but_ a monster, chases them. They need...they need to tell the others. Something whizzes past them and panicking Mason yanks his phone out and hope he can text and run.

—

Scott feels his shoulders relax a little when he gets a reply from Liam. “They'll be here soon, he said they were running and lost track of time.” Faintly he can feel Liam, embarrassed but pleased with exertion. Scott himself is just relieved, Liam is his responsibility.

Stiles rubs his hands together. “Awesome. Your mom and I know how to cook for hungry studying werewolves.”

Lydia rolls her eyes as she finishes off Malia's braid. “Hopefully you leave enough for the rest of us.” He can't tell if she's teasing or baiting, and her scent's ambiguous at best. She pats Malia on the shoulder and Malia turns and smiles at her.

“Thanks.” Malia bounds up and into the kitchen, where he hears her prod his mom for food. It makes him wonder if werecoyote's have different metabolism than werewolves like him.

His thoughts get interrupted by Lydia's phone going off. She checks it and frowns. Then nearly drops her phone. “Everyone...”

All eyes turn to her.

She turns her phone, and almost as if on cue a foreign feeling of fear creeps into Scott's mind. On her screen a text reads: _Helo! Monster!_

—

Mason's glad that becoming a werewolf didn't add a million pounds to Liam. Wrapping an arm under Liam's arms he starts pulling his unconscious friend back into the undergrowth. Praying it'll be enough to hide them for long enough. Especially since Liam got hit by one of the stingers that are being thrown at them. He can hear the monster, he hasn't dared to try and get a better look of what exactly it might be—then again even if he had he's not sure he'd recognize it. A crackle of branches has his heart pounding again; dear God he hopes it can't hear him like a werewolf could.

_Please, get here soon._

—

Scott shouts at his mom that they're leaving to go save Liam and Mason—and how weird is it that that's just something he shouts. Like a shot they all exit the house and pile into Stiles' Jeep.

“You know,” Stiles begins as they tear out of the driveway. “Maybe this is a sign that they should stop running in the woods.” Scott knows it's how Stiles deals with stress, but still not as funny as Stiles thinks it is.

“Where to?”

“The preserve,” Scott answers with certainty. “Do you think we should call Satomi?” She knows the woods better than he does, and he's afraid Liam might die.

Kira smells about as anxious as he feels, clearly she's missing her sword—he is too. “Do any of us know her number?” Lydia lays a hand on Kira's arm to stop her twitching.

They get to the preserve in record time and fall out of the Jeep in a way that would be comical if two of their pack's lives weren't in danger. Scott bounds to the edge of the preserve and scents the air, hoping with everything he has that he catches a hint of them. His ears pick up everyone else approaching, but they're insignificant to the wind and the smells. The air is bereft of any such hint though and his shoulders slump. Stiles' hand hits his shoulder. “Anything?”

“No.” He's, he's failing them.

“Scott,” Lydia's voice is laced with worry. “Howl.”

Malia and Kira join Stiles in touching him and he feels their strength join his. With his pack behind him Scott throws his head back and howls.

—

Mason's head snaps up when he hears a howl echo through the preserve. There aren't any wolves in California. _Of course_ his werewolf friend is unconscious. He doesn't hear the monster though, thankfully.

If Liam can't howl...

Bracing himself for possibly the biggest embarrassment of his life Mason throws his head back and howls.

Seconds later what has to be the monster roars.

—

Head whipping left Scott feels himself shift into Beta form. The howl doesn't sound like Liam, but it's desperate and a cry for help.

The roar that quickly follows chills his blood.

Without really meaning too he finds himself turning a little to look at Lydia, her heart's pounding in fear as she stares straight ahead. Until she notices his gaze. “What?”

“Are you going to scream?” He needs to know.

She shakes her head, then surprises him by tearing off her heels and running headlong into the woods.

The four of them look at each other before chasing after. Once again Scott throws his head back and howls, _we're coming, don't worry._

—

A branch slaps Lydia's cheek as she runs towards the sounds nothing natural in the preserve should make. Though to be honest she's got no idea what she's going to do when she gets there, Scott passes her like a bat out of hell, if she even gets there first. Part of her's grateful that Scott's pulled ahead, it's not like she can fight—not in the same way. His approach could be a bit more subtle though. Malia quickly follows in his footsteps, if much more silent than her Alpha. Behind Lydia she can hear Stiles' wheezing and Kira's measured breath, and she thinks that even if they're not exactly the best group of fighters out there that maybe they can do this. They might be able to scare away whatever's got Mason and Liam and escape.

A snarling sound, that is most definitely not werewolf in origin, reaches her ears, and she's not sure if she should be proud or not that her first instinct is to run—she's sure Peter and Jordan would be proud though.

She and Kira burst onto the footpath at the same time just in time to see Scott facing off against a, a...her mind can't quite process it right away.

It's mostly lion, tawny brown fur covering everything. There are _bat_ wings connected at the shoulders, and the tail looks like it came straight off a scorpion. And the face, the problem is the face is all _too_ human. Except for the teeth, three shark-like rows that apparently make it impossible for the creature to close it's mouth completely.

The gears of her mind begin begin turning again. She knows that despite it looking like it came straight from the island of Dr. Moreau it's something far older than that. It's a Persian manticore, and if they're not careful she knows it'll be more than happy to kill and eat them all.

Maybe she should have ran away after all.

Scott's in full protective Alpha mode, he probably hasn't even realized how _wrong_ the manticore is yet, eyes blazing red he stares the manticore right in the eye.

It opens it's mouth wider, showing off every one if it's horrible teeth.

Lydia's mind stutters a little as Scott _roars_ at the manticore. It snarls, but turns and runs. Scott also turns, towards a small clump of bushes, he takes a few deep breaths, shifting out of his Beta form, then says: “it's alright, it's gone.”

Seconds later Mason crawls out of the bushes...dragging Liam behind him. “No it's not, Liam got hit.”

Scott leaps over and scoops Liam up, without a word dashing off; back towards Beacon Hills, she thinks.

“Thanks a lot buddy!” Stiles shouts at Scott's retreating back.

Kira nudges him. “Hey, Liam's _hurt_.”

This time though Lydia kind of agrees with Stiles. “Yes, but we're still here. With a _manticore_  nearby.” It's not exactly the right thing to do if only _two_ people survive, when you could have saved them all if you'd only stopped and _talked_ to everyone.

Stiles rubs his hands through his hair and over his face. “Fuck, I was hoping I'd thought wrong. Ok, Malia can you lead us back to my Jeep?”

Malia nods. “Our scent trails a mile wide, should be to hard.”

“Alright. Scott probably headed to Deaton's. Once we get to the Jeep we'll head there too, hopefully Deaton can tell us how to stop it.” _If_ _he doesn't_ , Lydia thinks, _then Morana definitely can_. “One of us should call Melissa too, let her know what happened.” At the moment Lydia doesn't even care that Stiles taking charge should bug her, his plan—such as it is—makes sense, why not go with it?

He gestures at Malia, and she starts loping through a patch of preserve that looks about the same as all the others to Lydia. They quickly follow.

—

Peter lies blissfully relaxed, in Jordan's bed, perfectly content to stay there. Even though it's well after noon. Downstairs he can hear Jordan in the kitchen, and faintly over the heavenly scents in the bed he can smell food—bacon definitely, the rest is a bit too mixed to really tell. Jordan trying to entice him down? Footsteps on the stairs, so he may find out soon. The door creaks the tiniest bit as Jordan opens it and a second later the bed sinks slightly. "Are you going to stay there all day?" A hand slides up his arm to rest on his shoulder.

Peter turns his head to actually look at Jordan. "I don't see why not? Do you know the number of times I've been able to laze about since I came back to life?" He shifts closer to Jordan. "The answer is not many. I'm going to take this while I can." He gives a little lecherous grin. "The view isn't all that bad either."

Jordan rolls his eyes. "You're incorrigible."

"Thank you. You know if you stay here much longer I might be inclined to do something to you."

Another eye roll. "I've got food downstairs, and if it rouses your curiosity you could look around the armory in my basement." Jordan gives his shoulder a light shove.

"Armory?" Alright, his curiosity's piqued.

"Not all of us have handy dandy claws and fangs. I'm over a thousand, I've had a lot of time to accumulate weapons. Most of them of the sharp and pointy variety." Jordan sounds suitably proud, Peter's glad he is. Jordan will fight and kill to protect what he cares about, that makes sense and is right. Peter knows he can trust Jordan to do the right thing if need be, there's a strange comfort to be had in being with someone like that.

Overall the promise of an armory tour is only vaguely intriguing—it's not like _Peter_ needs any of it—but it might be interesting to see what it prompts Jordan to reveal to him. Languorously he pushes himself upright, angling himself just enough to kiss Jordan, who tastes strongly of bacon. His stomach rumbles, and alright, maybe he's a little hungry.

Jordan's lips are pulled up in the barest of smiles when they pull apart, though Peter leans back in to rub cheeks for scenting. He feels Jordan huff, before he pulls away. “Come on, I've got stuff for BLTs downstairs. Food, then you can poke around.”

“We can't do both?” The question's only half serious.

Peter gets pinned with a look for his troubles. “No way, I'd be making you clean every weapon you get grease on.”

Meeting Jordan's stare Peter moves quickly, easily trapping Jordan between the bed and Peter. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.” Jordan tilts his chin in a challenging manner.

Leaning in Peter avails himself to Jordan's neck, nibbling his way down until he reaches just below the crook. There he sets his teeth and lips to give Jordan the most impressive hickey he can.

Jordan prods him in the stomach with a finger. “He- _ah_.” Under him Jordan twitches.

Grinning Peter lets go. “Alright.” Climbing off of Jordan he stands. “Let me get dressed and I'll meet you down there.”

When Peter gets downstairs there are three sandwiches waiting for him at the tiny table. His nose itches and he resists the urge to sneeze, the cacophony of scents from the plants Jordan keeps just disorienting enough—though on the upside it could be considered good preparedness training. It'd surprised Peter to see so many plants in Jordan's house—but none in the bedroom oddly enough—and he always just manages to forget to ask Jordan about it. As he passes the other man he lays a brief kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.” He takes a seat and begins eating, _good_.

“It's no problem at all.” Jordan replies as he takes the other seat, barely even twitching when Peter tangles their legs. On the whole it's a stupid idea, if they're attacked it'll take precious seconds to untangle, but Peter's decided he's not going to worry about that sort of thing today. If he was he'd be pacing up a storm with the fact that Lydia is over with Scott's pack, where he can't be to protect her. No worrying.

There's no more conversation until Peter finishes eating. Halfway through Jordan began tapping a foot against Peter's left calf and it'd become a comforting rhythm. He knows something's up when it stutters for the briefest of moments before resuming. “What?”

Jordan starts. Then shakes his head to center himself. “Noth-I thought I felt something?”

Peter finds himself arching his eyebrow at Jordan's choice of words. “Felt?” While Peter has a fairly good understanding of Lydia's powers: banshee things, glamour, and cold? Jordan's are a mystery to him. His grandmother's tales of the fae had never been thick on details like that.

He gets a slow nod in return, “yeah. Like a–”

Before Jordan can finish a faint howl reaches them. Peter's up like a shot, because he knows that howl, of course he does, and even though Scott's mangled it like always he still catches the meaning: _where are you_? Jordan doesn't question him, staying silent as Peter focuses as best he can—from the sound of it they're far away. Just barely he hears a reply, one even less wolf-like than Scott's.

The next ten or so minutes are unbearably silent. Mentally Peter starts when he feels Jordan loosely wrap a hand around his wrist.

Another sound reaches his ear: the unmistakable roar of an angry Alpha. Something wholly foreign roars back in response. Then silence once more.

Peter lets himself relax just enough to get out of his hyper aware state.

“So?”

He takes his time trying to get what he knows straight. “One of Scott's pack was in the preserve somewhere, being chased by something I think.” Potentially Scott's fault even, considering he'd gone and woken up the Nemeton. “They managed to get in contact with him.” Though who 'they' might be still eludes him, whomever they are they need to work on their howling. “Scott and whomever else went with him found them, there might have been a fight. Scott roared, the thing roared back, and that's all I heard.”

Jordan nods, but before he can answer his phone buzzes from a text. He's nice enough to read it aloud. “It's from Lydia. Liam attacked and injured, going to Deaton's. Please research manticores. I'm okay.”

A part of Peter relaxes, though not for long. _Manticores_. Something he's not sure is in any of his family's records, or even in the Argent bestiary.

The hold on his wrist tightens. Peter blinks, realizing he's further away from Jordan than before.

“We can't just go running off Peter. You might not like anyone in Scott's pack.” Only mostly true. Malia's alright when she _thinks_ , Kira is someone he'd rather not face, and Lydia seems to like Mason well enough. “As long as Lydia's there with them they'll try and protect her. _We_ can help _Lydia_ , by doing as she asked and doing research.” Peter can believe Jordan's very old at this moment.

Doesn't change the fact Jordan's right, annoyed—though why Peter wants to hare off and play the white knight is beyond him—Peter steps back towards Jordan. “I hope your library is as impressive as your armory.”

It gets Jordan to smile. “It's not too shabby, though the one at Winter is even more impressive.” Jordan stands, letting go of Peter. “Come on.”

It hardly bothers Peter at all to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: research, plans, and sex.
> 
> Ōlelo Hawaiʻi is the second official language of Hawai'i while Hawaiian Pdgin/Hawaiian Creole English (HCE) is a dialect spoken a lot by native Hawaiians; so it made sense to have Danny able to speak both.
> 
> Also, hell yes I'm bringing back Ethan.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first off I'm gonna thank Jaz, my forever lovely beta, for pointing out that maybe I should add some things to this chapter (hence why it's a little later than usual).
> 
> Secondly, somewhere in the last chapter we broke the 200 page mark (at least according to my word processor). So yay? (for reals though it's super crazy I still can't really believe it)

It's a little tense at Deaton's, Stiles doesn't even need to be a werewolf to tell _that_. Deaton, Scott and Liam are still in the back room. He'd tried to get in but Scott had _snarled_ at him—Scott's so going to get a talking too when this is all over—the rest of them nervously wait in the waiting room. Like they're on some sort of hospital watch. It makes Stiles anxious and he thinks if one more thing goes wrong it might drive him into a panic attack. His stomach roils, threatening vomit.

To distract himself he's browsing the internet on his phone, trying to find every scrap of information on manticores he can. Across from him Lydia looks to be doing the same, though her's involves more typing. Talking with Jordan? When he's done he'll go and see what's she's found, hopefully enough matches up that they get some concrete info, maybe even a way to kill it. He's waiting on Deaton to finish before he out and out believes anything though.

Kira sits next to him, pressed against his side as best she can with the uncomfortable chair arms between them. Malia paces, her eyes constantly blue—making him so very glad Deaton closed the clinic when they'd gotten there. While Mason sits next to Lydia, his face suggesting he might still be in shock. Should he suggest Malia and Kira get coffee? It'd give them something to do. Does he trust either of them—well okay does he trust _Kira—_ with his baby on the other hand?

He's finding he can't really take the waiting anymore though. “Can you hear anything?” He asks Malia.

She whirls around, for a moment it's like she's about to jump and attack him, but then she shivers a little and goes and sits in Lydia's _lap_. Lydia starts, then narrows her eyes at Malia. “A warning would have been nice.”

Malia flushes and looks away guilty. “Sorry.” She doesn't get up. “Scott's not saying anything, but I can kind of hear Deaton, not words though.”

There went that hope. Still Liam hasn't died _yet_.

Stiles' leg begins to bounce, and he has to set his phone aside. He doesn't understand why this is affecting him so much, but it is. It could be a pack thing, he thinks, though there are a billion other possibilities too—including actual empathy.

Across from him Malia's thrown her legs onto Mason's lap, clearly trying to get him to interact with her, while she seems content to cuddle with Lydia like it's the most natural thing in the world. Yes, there is a part of him that very much likes it. Though he finds it's greatly overshadowed by worry that Malia's seeking comfort from someone who isn't pack...

He shakes his head, somehow hoping that will clear it, and stares down at his hands on his knees. Because he's pretty damn sure Lydia is part of the pack, though maybe he and Scott need to talk to Deaton, or hell _Derek_ , and see if there's some sort of ceremony or something that needs to be done to make a pack official.

Either way, Lydia _is_ pack, and she _cares_ about Malia, so why the fuck is he worried?

Finally, the best distraction of all comes when Deaton walks out of the back room, looking tired. In a flash they're all up and surrounding the man. “Is Liam okay?” Stiles asks.

Deaton nods. “Yes. Manticore venom is only paralytic, and then only enough to keep the victim in one place. He'll need to take it easy for the next few days, but otherwise he should be alright. You can go in and see him if you'd like. Though Scott may growl at you if you get overenthusiastic.”

Stiles goes in, debating with himself if that's a werewolf thing, an Alpha werewolf thing, or a Scott thing. Or some combination of the three. Malia bounds past him, clearly disregarding Deaton's warning and the ensuing rumble she gets from Scott. She hops up onto the exam table next to Liam, who besides being a little paler than normal looks no worse for wear, and plasters herself against him, rubbing her cheek over his shoulder. “I'm glad you're not dead.”

While everyone's focused on Liam—and for good reasons—Stiles heads over to Scott and puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “Hey dude, you okay?” Scott's eyes are Alpha red, but he otherwise doesn't look shifted. Not that Stiles can really see Scott's hands in their current crossed state.

Scott twitches, somehow caught by surprise. “I'm...” He takes a deep breath. “I think I'm okay. It's just, I feel like I nearly _lost_ him Stiles, and I didn't realize it would _hurt_.”

Continuing to pat Scott on the back Stiles thinks on that before answering. “Well maybe once we've kicked manticore butt we can talk to Derek about it.” If anyone knows what loosing packmates feels like it's him.

He gets a nod from Scott in response. “That, that sounds like a good idea.” He straightens his shoulders and steps towards Liam, everyone parting for him—though Stiles realizes that 'everyone' doesn't include Lydia—like the Red Sea. “Come on Liam, lets get you home.”

Liam gives a little nod and they start filing out, except for Stiles who starts fiddling with a forceps.

“Stiles,” Deaton does his druid-fu and once again freaks Stiles out. “Is there a reason you're still here?”

“I have questions about manticores?” He asks, sounding half unsure of himself, even if that's the truth.

Deaton gives his 'all will be well' smile. “Hopefully I have some answers.”

—

Adrenaline courses through Lydia’s veins as she ascends the steps to Jordan’s house. Maybe later they could talk about the manticore, right now she’s got only one purpose in mind. Inside she pauses, listening for Jordan or Peter. She might not have Peter’s senses, but Jordan isn’t exactly quiet in his own home. She can’t hear anything on the main floor, so she heads upstairs. Peeking into the study finds her Jordan sitting behind the desk flipping through a book, which is just fine with her. For once she manages to sneak up on him, getting right next to him before he notices she’s there. “Lydia?”

Swinging a leg over she settles herself into his lap. “I’m fine,” she assures him before leaning in and kissing him. He gives a shiver of surprise, but quickly reciprocates, his tongue darting into her mouth to tease and entice. Running her hands through his hair she grinds against him, infinitely glad she’d decided on one of her more flowing dresses today. His own hands come to rest on her thighs, one slowly starting to slide up under her skirt.

They break apart, breathing heavily. To give them both a moment she rests her forehead against his. “Where’s Peter?” She gasps as Jordan begins toying with the waistband of her panties.

“He went to go look around in the vault.” He turns his head enough to nose at her hairline. “Said there might be something useful there.”

A bit of her is disappointed at that, but she’ll live, and is more than happy to have some one on one time with Jordan. He rips a slight moan out of her when a finger slips into her panties to tease at her clit. Moving her hands down around his neck she laces them together and leans back. “I hope...you’ve got condoms in here.”

He stares at her, uncomprehending for a second, before burying his head between her breasts—causing her back to press against the desk. “Shit.”

She laughs.

Diving in she gives him one more kiss, a smile dancing across her lips when they pull apart. “I'll be right back.”

Nodding he lets go and she climbs out of his lap, slipping off her heels, and underwear, she dashes from the study to the bedroom, heading straight for the dresser. The most recent additions the bric-a-brac on top of it is a large box of condom—of which she grabs several—and a few bottles of lube, after a few moments thought she grabs one. Who knew when Peter would be back, or what he might want to do when he did.

Returning to the study she's pleased to see Jordan's half shimmied out of his pants and underwear, cock jutting proud and ready. Giving him a Cheshire smile she goes back to his side, setting her items on the desk. She feels his eyes on her as she picks up a condom and opens it, “scoot forward.”

Enthusiastically he does so and leaning in she slides the condom on, giving his cock a few pumps in reward. His head falls back, she has to resist the urge to put her mouth there and take a bite, and he groans. Still gripping him she climbs back onto the chair, it takes some maneuvering—especially considering how tight the space is—but soon they're both making sounds of pleasure as she sinks down. Her hands free she puts them back in Jordan's hair. Her nails scrape against the back of his ear and he twitches away and starts shaking. “Jordan?” He own voice comes out a little shaky itself, considering _his_ shaking is doing interesting things to the both of them.

He looks her in the eye, blushing a little. “Sorry.” One of his hands comes to rest on her hip encouraging her down a little more, while the other wraps around her back to support her. “Ticklish spot.”

The smile she gives him could probably put Peter's own self-satisfied smirk to shame. “Oh, is that all?” She starts moving one of her hands out of his hair.

“Lydia?” It comes out a drawn out moan as they join completely.

Deliberately this time she lightly scrapes her nails against the same spot as before.

He laughs aloud, throwing his head back once more and shaking again. She knows it's actually impossible but she dives in and kisses him mid-laugh like she wants to catch it in her own mouth. His laughter turns into a sigh and moan as she rocks against him. Maybe later they can play around with tickling, but right now she just wants to remember she survived—irregardless of how much danger she was actually in. She clenches around him and gives a pleased sound when his grip on her tightens.

Staring into each other's eyes and sharing breath they move, sliding and thrusting. Filling the room with sound.

The first trickle of her orgasm is almost a relief, leaning closer she pants in his ear. “So close, _harder_.”

He whimpers in response and she squeezes tight around him as his hips jerk. He does move harder, the hand at her back shifting to grip her other hip to give him better purchase. That's not all it seems, because when she finally does orgasm—nails drawing blood on his shoulders—something dances across the back of one of her calves. At the sensation she clamps her lips shut, but he does it over and over again as her body washes with pleasure and soon it gets to be too much, laughter bursting from her in waves.

When both her orgasm and her laughter have died down he noses at her jaw. “Fair's fair,” he murmurs before he jerks a few more times and his own orgasm fills her.

Still joined they just sit there, catching their breaths and slowing coming down. Kissing his check she then shifts up to rest her forehead against his. “Thank you,” they slip out without her meaning to; she knows he won't be offended, or take them for more than their value, but that she slipped at all could potentially be worrying.

She feels Jordan's lips pull into a smile against her cheek. “I'm not quite sure _why_ you're thanking me, but you don't need to in the first place _sukr_.”

Blinking she pulled away from him enough to look him in the eye. “What did you just say?” He's smart enough to know what she's asking about, unless he decides to play the idiot for some ridiculous reason.

He flushes all the way to the tips of his ears. “Sorry, it just slipped out.” The hand that had been tickling her calf shifts upward to gently pet her thigh. “ _Sukr_ just means sugar.”

Reaching out she prods him in the shoulder. “In what language?” She didn't recognize it off the top of her head, but she's fairly certain it's not a Romantic one.

“Breton,” he says. “It's kind of my mother tongue, if that makes sense.” It made enough sense when she remembered that 'Erwann' was the Breton form of Ivo or Yves depending on where you looked—and either way it meant the same thing _yew_.

Before she can ask another question a yawn escapes her, all the excitement and worry from this morning catching up to her. In one smooth movement Jordan wiggles his hands under her thighs and stands. He slides out in the process, but she doesn't quite care. “Come on, we'll cuddle and compare notes on the manticore, then catch a nap.”

She wraps her arms and legs around him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “Sounds like a fantastic idea.”

—

Peter rifles through what little errata remains of the Hale archive, refusing to sneeze from the sheer amount of dust laying over everything in the vault. Vaguely he wonders if there's a company discreet and confidential enough to trust with the cleaning of the place; because it could damn well use it.

Giving up on yet another pile of papers he moves onto another shelf. There's got to be _something_ here that pertains to manticores. Talia probably wouldn't have allowed differently.

Part of him wonders why he's being so eager to find out. It's not like Lydia will be the one fighting this thing—he hopes not—though he wouldn't put it past Jordan to pull something stupidly heroic and go after it instead of letting Scott and his pack deal with it. Peter hopes that Jordan would have the sense of mind to look after _himself_ first.

So he's searching because of someone else and not so he can lord the information over Stiles or Scott. The idea sits strangely in him. It's not like this is the first time, he's always been fairly easy on Lydia when she was the one coming around to ask for information, but this time feels different. Maybe because this time he's doing it for more than one person? His eyes start scanning the newest pile of papers he's riffling through as he rolls that thought around.

That feels somewhat right. This time his font of knowledge won't just be for Lydia, but Jordan as well. Then again it's not like Lydia had keep what she'd known to herself the previous times.

Another bust—unless their manticore is secretly a gryphon—he sets the pile down, sending up another plum of dust. This time there's no fighting it and he sneezes. As Peter moves on the certainty that he won't be able to stay here much longer begins to creep upon him. This is Talia's place after all, and with the return of his memories his feelings towards her have grown even more sour. Even though she was Alpha she'd had no right to make those choices, especially for him. It's done and gone, all his lingering will only make him cranky.

He checks his phone, even though he couldn't have possibly have missed the buzz of a text or call, right after he'd come here Lydia'd sent a text letting him and Jordan know she was at Deaton's. Whom Peter's disinclined to trust. Then again it's not his Beta's life on the line.

Sliding it back into his pocket he leans against one of the shelving units, maybe when he has more time—though it's not like he's currently lacking in it either—he can go through at make a catalog, so that way he nor Derek need to search the whole place of one scrap of paper. Not that Derek will show him any gratitude...

Something about that thought becomes akin to a loose tooth, hard to ignore and even harder not to poke at.

Not the Derek part, Derek's the same as always. Well banked anger, lurking—though as of late that one seems to have falling off the table as it were, and barely contained annoyance at Peter's presence. Or that's how it feel to Peter. Gratitude? _Hmm_ , perhaps.

No, not gratitude, _exchange_. He's doing this without expecting anything in return.

It doesn't rankle as much as he'd thought it would.

Granted he's sure Lydia and Jordan will make it up to him in other ways. With two lovers it's hardly like his sex life is lacking. He purposefully sidesteps the other parts of the relationship. As if in wonderful reprieve a familiar grinding sound reaches his ears. It can't be Scott, who still erroneously thinks only Hales can get in, or any other member of his pack. Derek.

Barely a minute later Derek comes down the steps, raising an eyebrow upon seeing Peter.

Peter arches ones of his own in response. “What? Hoping to get a jump on Stiles?” Highly unlikely considering.

Derek frowns. “What?”

Clicking his tongue Peter rights himself. “You didn't hear the news?” Has Scott's—or Stiles'—original distrust of Derek reared it's ugly head? If Derek wasn't here because of that, then why?

“News?” Derek crosses arms as he heads towards the middle of the vault. “Apparently not. Are you going to tell me or just gloat?” Anger adds a toasty layer to Derek's usual apple and honey scent.

With a mock frown Peter shakes his head. “Do you really distrust me that much? Of course I'm going to tell you.” Before Derek can open his mouth to argue that point Peter keeps talking. “A manticore attacked two of Scott's pack this morning in the preserve.” He does feel a speck of pity for the two of them.

Derek tenses, and worry overcomes anger. “Which two? Lydia?” The worry grows even thicker. Ah yes, it'd nearly slipped his mind—who could blame him with everything else that had recently happened—that Derek considered Lydia family now. Quite literally if the gift he'd given her on her birthday held any meaning.

“No,” he shook his head. “The younger ones, Mason and Lyall?” It's a deliberate flub. One that Derek will _know_ is intentional. Considering how much Lydia's taken a shine to Mason he's not inclined to flub that one.

The huff Derek gives is acknowledgment enough. “Are they both still alive?” That's no fun, Derek not correcting him.

“As of Lydia's last text they were, only Liam was actually injured.” Just chance? Peter wonders. Or did a manticore prefer supernatural prey over human?

“So what, you're here to see if mom had anything?” Derek's eyes track over the whole vault. “Good luck with that,” almost-sarcasm drips from those last words.

Peter passes Derek, deliberately bumping their shoulders. Derek bumps back. “Would you prefer all this moulder in here unused? I'm starting to wonder why you're here myself.” He manages to sniff out some more sheaves of paper squirreled behind what looks like a half rotten mallow plant.

He rifles through them, pointedly waiting for Derek's answer.

For the next few moments Derek's basically silent, just a lot of shuffling, as if he expected Peter to already know the answer to that not quite a question. Peter can wait him out, Derek's never been the most patient sort. “It's mom's birthday today.” The words fall flat, as if the dust greedily ate up the echoes.

Peter's lungs begin to burn and he realizes he'd stopped breathing. That bit of foolishness corrected Peter, full of false nonchalance, puts the papers back down. “Is it now?” He could of course search through his own mind for the answer, but those parts of him are better left untouched. For the rest of his life he has any say over it.

Derek stiffens. “Of course it is, you _know_ it is.”

While Peter's willing to concede that he _might_ know it is, he's not going to say it. “That doesn't quite explain why you're here.” Talia may have put most of the things in the vault, but this wasn't exactly _her_ place.

“It's not like I can wander around the house.” Derek's biting tone is so very reminiscent of times long past.

Peter turns to face him. “There's always the basement, it's a bit harder to tear that out.”

A snarl rumbles from Derek's chest, not that that bothers Peter. Derek won't attack him because he'd deliberately forgotten a dead relation's birthday. “Do you even care?”

He stops moving, his hands falling open on both sides. “I don't think you want me to answer that question Derek, not really.” They both know Derek won't like the answer. Right now if he's pressed he _will_ answer, and damn the consequences.

Derek's eyes flare guilt-ridden blue as he bares his teeth, it's an empty threat though, Peter can tell from the line of Derek's shoulders and his defeated scent. A thread of guilt snakes its way though Peter, he and Derek are the only family they have left—Cora had been too young for them to be close and in this context Malia didn't really count—and here they are snapping and sniping at each other. Impulse rising within him Peter steps up to Derek and envelops him in a hug.

Derek starts, not expecting the touch, but he quickly returns it, burying his face in Peter's shoulder. Salt begins to tinge the air. “I miss her.”

Peter bites his tongue to keep himself from answering. Derek's allowed to miss his mother, but Peter's not going to be mourning his sister again any time soon. He just holds Derek closer, rubbing his nose and cheeks through Derek's hair.

*

When he returns to Jordan's house—having learned nothing but feeling marginally better about his and Derek's relationship—it smells of fresh sex, enticing and sweet. Erection growing he toes off his shoes and takes off his coat before heading upstairs, the scents of Lydia and Jordan getting stronger the further in he goes. It's the study that smells the strongest, though neither of them are in there. Meaning...he goes down the rest of the hall and opens the bedroom door. The two of them are curled up together on the bed, half clothed. Lydia neatly tucked into Jordan who's back is facing the door.

He might be well and truly hard now, but the sight also stirs something else in him.  _M_ _ine_ , a separate curl of pleasure comes from that knowledge. He has an erection that insists he do something, but it seems Talia isn't done haunting him yet. Memories of her returning, none of which he'd like to deal with at the moment. With an internal snarl he goes over to the bed and falls onto it, across both their legs.

They both awake with a start, Jordan in fact making as if to reach for a weapon of some sort. Peter knows full well there aren't any in the bedroom. He has yet to experience being under a glamour, but he's experienced enough horrors in his life to imagine that, if properly motivated, it wouldn't be pretty. Feeling more like a petulant child than anything else Peter turns his head away from the both of them and stares at an empty patch of wall over the dresser. Underneath him both Lydia and Jordan's legs move.

“Peter,” Lydia already sounds patiently annoyed, she knows him far too well. “I'm not even going to bother asking what's wrong, since you won't tell us.”

It's true, he might have willingly gone to the vault to do research without expecting much in the way of returns. He's still loathed to bare himself completely, when it comes to his old life.

A delicate hand that can only be Lydia's begins to run through his hair. “I wish you would though,” she says it softly enough that he can pretend to not have heard it.

He tenses for a moment when he fells Jordan shift behind him, but the man just presses against Peter's back, an arm coming to lay on top of Peter, moving down enough that their fingers tangle together. It's nice, even if part of Peter wishes they'd just leave him alone. It's so much easier to be angry at everything when there isn't anyone to pull you back.

Yet a few minutes later he finds himself moving, dragging Jordan along with him, to rest his head in Lydia's lap. She still smells of sex, along with her oleander scent and the barest hints of Jordan and himself. Peter find's he's just not in the mood. Instead he stares intently at the floral pattern on her dress, as if the design holds all the answers he needs. Through it all Lydia's hand keeps stroking.

“It's Talia's birthday today,” it escapes without him meaning to, but now he's said it and there's no way to take it back.

Lydia stiffens, her hand pausing for a second before resuming. Peter finds that he wants to ask what else Talia's claws might have told her, any other secrets his sister saw fit to not tell him. _“I’m not mad at you Peter. I just feel you’ve made a grave mistake and I’m here to correct that.”_ A shiver wracks him. He's not crying but he buries his face further into Lydia's belly, in response Jordan presses even closer, arm tightening just enough to be comforting.

Looking up through his lashes he sees Lydia's now the one staring off into space. Her petting slows, but doesn't stop again. “In one of my therapy sessions Ms. Morrill once told me that the worst phrase in all of human history is 'it's for your own good'.” He vaguely remembers that, except for their 'meeting' in front of the councilor's office he'd let her have the therapy sessions alone. It wasn't as if he'd needed them too.

Behind him Jordan actually shakes with barely contained laughter. “I can do you one better Lydia: 'oops'.”

Peter has no idea what either of them really intended with their respective statements. Lydia's implied that she knew what he might be going through—which he only knows because he was in her head at he time. But Jordan's?

Peter finds he kind of has to laugh, otherwise who knows what he'd do. Even if it's mostly forced, laughing does help ease some of the tension in him. Lydia moves his head off her lap, shimmying down until she can press up against his front, Jordan's arm moving to cover her too. They're all curled around each other, _like wolves_ an absent part of Peter thinks, they all seem more than happy to laze about—even after Peter's stomach begins to complain from hunger. Which doesn't stop Peter from half falling asleep himself, feeling more at peace than he has in a long while—he wonders if that is because of them or because of the fact that he told them what was bothering him. One of Jordan's calloused fingers runs down Peter's ribs. “You two should stay the night.”

The request surprises Peter, and not just because if it's suddenness.

Staying over isn't really something Peter does, nor been much inclined to do, despite how much he does enjoy curling up next to another warm body. He's not sure how to respond, but at this moment he finds he's not inclined to say 'no'.

Lydia stretches. “I'd like that,” she says softly. “I'm going to have to call Natalie and tell her I won't be coming home.” A gusty sigh. “I guess I can't lie and tell her I'm at Malia's can I?” Her hands stop. “Well I'm sure I'll manage something.”

Peter's stomach rumbles again, and he can't help but chuckle. “I think we'd also figure out dinner. Not inclined to cook right now.”

Which gets Jordan to laugh as he starts pushing himself upright. “I've got plenty of take-out menus we can go through, we won't be going hungry any time soon.” He leans forward and gives Lydia a quick kiss before climbing out of bed.

Heaving a put-upon sigh Peter gets up as well, eyes gladly following Lydia as she slides off the bed herself and goes over to her purse hanging from the knobs of Jordan's dresser. As he's following Jordan out of the room he hears her hiss. “Shit.”

He sticks his head back in. “What is it?”

She glances up at him sharply, not expecting the question. “I missed a call from Danny somehow.”

He'll leave her to it then. “Anything specific you want for dinner?”

Eyes focused completely on her phone she hums. “Chinese?” She raises her phone to her ear. “Or some place that has crab puffs.”

“Aright.” He can hear her phone attempting a connection as he starts down the hall, then: “hey Danny. Look, I'm completely sorry I missed your call, you would _not_ believe the day I've had...”

He mostly tunes her out as he joins Jordan in the kitchen. He brushes his shoulder against Jordan's as he makes his way to the sink. “Lydia said she wants some place that has crab puffs.” Jordan pauses in his great take-out menu shuffle to arch an eyebrow, but he doesn't say anything. Not until he gets a serious look in his eye. There's some part of Peter that's telling him to leave, and now, that' he's growing too attached. He's started to care for the two of them, and if he's not to careful it's liable to grow.

Before he can even think of turning and walking out Jordan snags his wrist, meeting him eye to eye. “Thank you for that, earlier. Admitting that sort of thing isn't easy.”

Snark or snap? Both would push Jordan away, but most of Peter's just too _tired_ to fight something like this anymore. He's sure if Talia was here now she'd be telling him this was a mistake too. That a wolf couldn't love two people, let alone a wolf like Peter. Looking into Jordan's pale green eyes, Peter feels steady in the idea that she's _wrong_. That he's allowed to hate her for what she did to him. In a way what she _still_ does to him.

For the briefest of seconds Jordan looks away, then just as quickly meets Peter's eyes again. “Look I don't know exactly what you went through, but I...have...had... _have_ a sister too.” The admission catches Peter off-guard, though he still notices the way Jordan seems uncertain on how to talk about her. Peter nearly speaks, but his wolf stops him. Instead having him escape Jordan's grip—he's helped Lydia do it enough that it's easy for him to replicate—only to take Jordan's hand and squeeze.

Which gets Jordan to keep speaking. “We probably didn't have the same sort of relationship you did. There was a lot of unfinished business between us when she got...” Jordan's brow furrows. Trying to think of how to lie while telling the truth? If so would Peter be able to sense it? “Caught up in her current predicament.” No sort of uptick that Peter can hear, nor any sort of change in scent. Something terrifyingly useful and personally annoying at the same time.

Peter knows full well Lydia would pry, try and get Jordan to open up more about his sister and her 'situation', Peter won't. If Jordan wanted to talk about it he'd do it when he was full ready, and not a second sooner. He will change the subject, give Jordan the out he wants. Loathed as he finds himself to do so he lets go of Jordan and picks up the take-out menus. “So crab puffs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: How _do_ you kill a manticore? And a plot within a plot.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself for another long chapter folks. . .

Jordan awakes to an empty bed.

At first feelings of annoyance and frustration pass through him, it would’ve been nice to wake up between Peter and Lydia for once—and he knows if he calls them up they’ll give him good reasons why they’re _not_ there—but then the loud _bang_ of a pan hitting the floor reaches his ear, followed by rapid silence. _Oh_ , he buries his face in a pillow that smells a lot like Peter to muffle some shaky laughter and a relieved groan.

They’re not gone, they’re in his kitchen, probably trying to surprise him with breakfast in bed. That small relief relaxes him and he sits upright, while he’d love to humor them in that endeavor it’s a bitch to get food stains out of down—he knows full well that breakfast in bed will lead to other things. He climbs out of bed and pulls on some boxer-briefs and a pair of little used pajama bottoms, then starts making his way downstairs. The smells of coffee and something sweet, as well as the sounds of bright pop music, reaching him more and more the closer he gets.

In the doorway to the kitchen he stops and just watches them. Lydia stands in front of a pan full of scrambled eggs eyes focused as she stirs them around. Her hair’s been pulled back into a sloppy bun, showing off the lines of her neck and the hickeys he and Peter have left there, and she’s clad only in one of Peter’s v-necks, the shirt practically swamping her.

On her other side stands Peter, living dangerously by attempting to cook bacon when only wearing boxers. Then again with his healing Jordan guesses it hardly matters. The oven seems to be the source of the sugary smell and Jordan’s mouth waters at the thought of what might be inside.

Besides the radio—now playing commercials—Peter and Lydia are quiet, though they’re constantly touching each other. It makes his heart swell and fills him with warmth to see it. That these people care as much about him as they do each other.

Deciding he might as well make himself known, though he’s surprised Peter hasn’t scented him yet, he creeps into the kitchen, hoping he can at least catch _one_ of them by surprise. Lydia’s his best bet considering she’s closer and doesn’t have Peter’s senses, but Peter’s so _fun_ to surprise—and has the reflexes that he wouldn't lose _much_ of the bacon.

His choice is pretty much made for him when Lydia spots him, but she keeps her mouth shut, grinning at him in a conspiring manner. She shifts closer to Peter, giving him the room to slip past her.

“You’d better think again before I wack you with my spatula,” Peter says, not even bothering to turn around.

Jordan pouts at Peter’s back, but goes through with his plan to wrap his arms around Peter, giving his neck a sleepy nuzzle. “Morning.” Moving his head to the side he props his chin on Peter’s shoulder. “It smells fantastic in here.”

Peter shrugs, dislodging Jordan for a brief second. “It was no trouble at all.”

“Says the man who got up at-” Lydia gets jabbed in the arm with Peter’s spatula handle. “Hey!” She protests in mock-outrage, responding in kind.

Before that has a chance to devolve into a childish poking war that Jordan will invariably have to stop the oven timer goes off. Peter shrugs off Jordan’s embrace and pulling on some of Jordan’s colorful oven mitts—which make Peter look ridiculous—goes over to pull whatever he’s baked out. The smell that wafts out of the oven makes his mouth water, and Lydia’s too from the look of it. He nudges her. “Your eggs are going to burn.” She sticks her tongue out at him but goes back to the eggs.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks as Peter passes him with what appears to be French toast.

“You can pour drinks,” Lydia says at the same time as Peter says “stand there and look pretty.”

A ripple of laughter echoes through the kitchen. Despite Peter’s request Jordan pours drinks, coffee for him and tea from an oversized pot for Peter and Lydia, and they start the delicate task of fitting all three of them at his tiny table. Too much effort to bring it all to the dining room, and maybe he should just buy a bigger breakfast table.

Once they’re settled in, Peter and Lydia facing each other and Jordan at the end legs all tangled up in each other’s, they start eating.

Eager to try the French toast Jordan slathers in syrup and cuts a bite of it, he chews, a moan escaping him as the super-sweet taste fills his mouth. Oh stars, this is the best thing he’s ever tasted and there’s even _more_ waiting to be eaten. After swallowing he leans in and gives Peter’s cheek a sticky kiss. “I think I’m in love with your French toast,” he declares.

Peter looks torn between preening at the compliment and glowering from the splotch of sugar now on his cheek.

Lydia just laughs, licking her thumb and leaning in to rub it off as best she can. Licking her thumb again when she’s done. “Jordan’s right though, this stuff is glorious.” Her own plate is already half empty, knife and fork cutting syrupy swaths.

Rolling his eyes Peter digs into his own, more normal looking, French toast. “I’m glad you two are enjoying the sugar overload.”

Jordan and Lydia share a look of exasperated affection. Under the table he can feel Lydia's legs loop around one of Peter's, a foot beginning to make it's way steadily upwards. Peter's eyes flash brighter blue. The next few minutes are basically silent as they eat. Until the leg of Peter's that Lydia didn't 'trap' shifts to the other one, catching Lydia's foot between them. “Now, now sweetheart. Not at the breakfast table,” he raps it with the end of his knife. “It wouldn't hold up to the strain.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Spoilsport.”

He smiles. “Oh you haven't even seen me begin to be a spoilsport...”

Jordan swallows loudly, finding he likes the sound of that far too much.

*

An hour later he's kneeling at the head of his bed and flexing against the ropes 'holding' him in place, they give just enough to belie their tight appearance. While neither he nor Peter thought it likely that the manticore would come into a house when there was easier prey in the preserve it was better to be safe than sorry. So before Peter had brought Lydia in they'd tested to make sure Jordan could escape the bonds with ease if need be. For right now any binding for him will have to be symbolic at best.

For Lydia thought...she's naked and spread-eagle over the rest of the bed, her own bonds holding her tight enough that all she can do is struggle ineffectually. With the blindfold she's all but helpless. Inside his boxer-briefs his cock twitches, all but begging him to do _something_. The feel of rope against skin stops him. The sound of feet against carpet re-focuses his attention on Peter, Lydia zeroing in on the sound as well, who's holding a square of silk between his teeth while he tugs on a pair of leather gloves.

 _Blight_ , first Lydia with her pair last week—he has yet to work up the courage to ask her to do with him what she'd done with Peter—and now Peter's getting in on it? A groan echoed in his chest,  _something_ is conspiring against him.

Peter hears the sound of course, and his eyes flare electric blue. Gloves now on he takes the silk out of his mouth. “Like them do you?” He sounds far too pleased with himself.

“Peter?” Lydia's question is shaky but carries an edge of glamour in it. Which makes perfect sense to Jordan, her mind and powers attempting to compensate for her current state, regardless of it being consensual. As subtly as possible he brushes a bare knee against the arm closest to him, goose bumps rising at her almost chilly skin. Lydia twitches at the contact.

A calming sound comes from Peter as he climbs onto the bed. “Don't worry sweetheart, just relax and be good for me alright?” The hand holding the silk brings it up to her breasts, brushing a corner against one of her erect nipples.

She gasps and arches as best she can into the sensation. Peter denies her, pulling the corner away before she gets another burst of stimulation. Giving a moan of disappointment she falls back onto the bed, her breathing more elevated. “Al...alright.”

Jordan watches entranced as Peter begins to tease her with the scrap of silk in earnest, running it lightly all over her body, a ghost of a touch. The nails of Jordan's hands bite into the skin of his palm as he watches her twitch and struggle to not move while trying to get even more sensation than what Peter's giving her at the same time.

Eyes following every movement Peter makes Jordan wishes he could be right there beside Lydia, blind and helpless, experience exactly what she's experiencing. “Jordan,” Peter's voice draws him from his thoughts and he looks at the Peter, who's staring right at him. “You're hurting yourself.”

The ripple of surprise that passes through him has the added bonus of relaxing his hands, belated pain rising in its wake. “I'm,” he takes a centering breath. “Good.”

Peter looks at him for a few seconds more, surprising Jordan by leaning towards him and placing a deliberate bite on the meat of his shoulder. “Don't do that again.”

Jordan's breath leaves him in a rush, and he gives a shaky nod. Pulling away Peter returns his attention to teasing Lydia to orgasm. Deliberately uncurling his fists Jordan continues to watch. He might want to be in the same position as Lydia, but his current one is a trusting test in and of itself: we both know you can get out of what I've done to you, but _will_ you?

His cock's wishing he would. Especially when Peter gives up the pretense of teasing with the silk and engulfs one of Lydia's breasts with a gloved hand. Her moan is as quiet as always, yet seems to echo through the room, her body arching as best it can. Jordan half worries that she'll get rope burn.

The hand slides from her breast to the skin below it, thumb continuously brushing the soft underside. “Shhh, Lydia.” Peter croons. “Remember what you promised.”

A sob leaves her as her grip on the rope binding her arms tightens, knuckles turning white. The half of her face not covered by the blindfold is flushed red. Jordan has to focus inwards, making his muscles tense and relax, to stop himself from leaning in to touch, to see if those redened parts of her are any warmer than the rest of her. Moments of silence pass, Peter not doing anything other than his pseudo-comfort. Eventually Lydia gives a shuddering breath, forcing herself to let go of the rope and slumping against the bed. “Good girl,” Peter says as his hand takes up it's previous position, thumb beginning to circle her nipple.

She gives a quiet cry, and Jordan can hardly miss the tension in her body as she does her best to keep it from moving. Jordan can sympathize, his own arousal's nearly unbearable at this point and he doesn't even care if it's from Peter's rough, leather covered hand; he just wants _relief_.

Like he can sense Jordan's train of thought, Peter once again looks up at him. “You can't come until Lydia does,” Peter patiently reminds. The groan that Jordan gives at that can only be called pitiful, and in response Peter's free hand comes up and lightly swats Jordan's thigh. “None of that now.” Jordan grits his teeth to keep from biting his tongue, and nods. As if in reward the hand that swatted him reaches up a little higher and briefly cups his cock, making Jordan's hips twitch. The hand quickly leaves, going instead to cover Lydia's scars.

The sound that escapes her at that touch is somewhere between a whimper and a whine. Yet she manages to keep herself from doing anything more than twitching.

Peter makes a pleased sound and leans into her, mouth closing over her neglected nipple. She throws her head back and Jordan can't do much else but stare as her mouth opens in a silent scream—a familiar sugary-sweet smell fills the room making his mouth water. Around her nipple Peter smiles. “Such a good girl.” He pets Lydia's scars. “Now can you give me another?”

Jordan's own moan overwhelms Lydia's. It's with a bit of shock that he realizes he's been gripping the short length of rope that will undo his own restrains. He lets go of it almost instantaneously. No matter how much he wants to fall on them with his hands and mouth, worshiping as best he can, he promised to remain like this until Peter released him. He makes himself breath evenly and smoothly, embracing the pleasure demanding to be fulfilled and letting it become his entire being. A rush in and of itself, and he isn't surprised at all when he feels his cock jump and twitch as he comes.

Once again Peter looks up at him, the thin circle of his iris such a bright blue against the black of his pupil that they almost look fake. He soon abandons Lydia completely, she moans in disappointment, crawling over to Jordan. One hand comes up to stroke the skin right below the end of Jordan's boxer-briefs and he shifts into the touch. “Good boy.” His limp cock twitches and Jordan groans at the sensation. Flushing bright red when Peter buries his nose in the damp patch now on the underwear. “Though I'd expected you to last longer.”

“Gods,” Jordan groans. “Gonna strangle...you.”

Peter laughs, the sensation making Jordan twist. Raising his head up Peter places a teasingly light kiss right under Jordan's bellybutton before pulling away and returning to Lydia. “Now where were we sweetheart?”

Lydia only tries to shift closer to Peter and mewls.

“Ah, that's right.” His hands come to rest on her belly. “Orgasm number two.”

Jordan watches rapt, as Peter's hands begin to move inexorably lower. Soon their low enough that he can dip a thumb into to tease at her clit. Her grip on the ropes binding her arms tightens visibly, but she somehow manages to remain still. “Peteeerr.” Her knuckles turn white again. “Fuck me.”

Leaning down Peter blows air against her labia and clit, her hips jerk attempting to escape the sensation. “Not just yet sweetheart. Have a little patience.”

Her lips compress into a tight line, as if trying to contain what little sound she makes, as Peter finally dips a finger into her, pumping it ever so slowly. He keeps that up, adding a second finger in increments. A constant litany of sound comes from Lydia and before Jordan can even fathom it he's hard again. Yet still sensitive, the drag of his boxer-briefs almost too much for him.

Lydia comes again, shaking and shuddering, begging for Peter to be inside her.

Shuddering a little himself Jordan watches as Peter licks his fingers clean, desperately wishing he could do it himself.

“I think you both deserve a reward after that.” Peter crooks his finger at Jordan and he shuffles over as best he can. One of Peter's leather clad hands soothes down his back and he arches into it, eager for any sensation.

Then his arms are free and before he fully understands what Peter's done his arm around around the other man, Jordan leans in and kisses him with desperation. Peter responds in kind, hands going to the waistband of Jordan's underwear and tugging it down. With enthusiasm Jordan helps him, more than happy to have them off.

“What are you two doing?” Lydia's barely-there voice is saturated with glamour, enough that even Jordan-Erwann feels dazed.

He and Peter break apart, breathing heavily. “Kissing,” he manages to pant out.

Peter tosses aside Jordan's boxer-briefs before sliding off the bed. “Getting Jordan ready to fuck you while I fuck him.”

 _Holy fucking hell_ , his eyes shutter closed and he moans, pre-come spurting from his twitching cock. When he finally opens his eyes again Peter's back, with two condoms, lube, and his usual wicked smile on his face. “Thought you'd like that.” His gloved hands manage to appear menacing as they open the first condom and move to put it on Jordan.

The feel of Peter's hands on him like that feels almost as good as being inside Lydia and he thrusts into the touch. Far too soon Peter's done, hands moving to turn Jordan around to face Lydia. Who's still flushed and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The heat of Peter presses against his back. “Go on then,” Peter murmurs into his ear. “Take her.”

Jordan falls onto her like a starving man, barely taking any time to line himself up before he starts sinking in. On either side of him he feels Lydia's legs shift and jump, desperately trying to close around him, encourage him deeper. He keeps his pace slow, because he knows he won't be able to control himself once Peter starts prepping him. Lowering himself down he licks at her breasts, enjoying the salty-sweet taste of her. She gives a pleased hum and arches into him as best she can.

Faintly he hears the sounds of clothes hitting the ground, then Peter's bare fingers dig into his ass, parting the cheeks to reveal the rest of him. “Very pretty.” Jordan flushes at the complement, hips stuttering into Lydia when a finger briefly dips in to tease.

The rest of his movements become just as erratic, not that Lydia's complaining, as Peter starts working in lube covered fingers, getting him nice and open. He's shouting out his second orgasm by the time Peter finally starts driving in his own cock. The sensations battering Jordan's pleasure addled mind make him collapse onto Lydia, just in time managing to hold himself up enough so she can still breath.

He's rapidly softening inside Lydia, but that hardly seems to matter to Peter, each of his thrusts against Jordan's prostate making Jordan jerk into Lydia. It feels like forever before he finally feels claws digging into his hips and hears Peter's snarling growl. Muzzily he thinks that maybe next time he should tell Peter that with the two of them they didn't really need to waste condoms. Pleasure ripples through him at the thought of Peter's next orgasm spraying into him.

Peter pulls out, hands gently helping Jordan to do the same. The bed shifts as he leaves again, but he's quickly back a warm washcloth in his hands as he wipes down Jordan. Through half-lidded eyes Jordan watches as Peter moves onto Lydia, removing the blindfold slowly so Lydia's eyes could adjust. Before moving on to the ropes holding her. Once more he leaves at returns and pleased contentment stirs in Jordan's chest as he watches Peter massage Lydia's favorite lotion into her wrists and ankles, speaking soft praises to the both of them all the while.

Lying down Peter moves Lydia to lie atop him, while pulling Jordan against his side, giving them both gentle kisses he smiles. “I do believe it's nap time now.”

Jordan will gladly get behind that.

—

Sitting in front of her vanity mirror Lydia stares almost expectantly at the pocket knife Malia had gotten her. She knows it's not going to do anything until she picks it up and uses it, but she still feels like it might. The blackness of the knife makes the faint redness still left over from the ropes this morning look even more lurid—her arms don't feel like the jelly she's sure her legs have turned into.

Her dawdling is only nerves and before she can change her mind she picks up and opens it. Carefully she jabs the point of the blade into her thumb, hissing at the sharp pain. Setting the knife down she smears her now bloody thumb across her mirror. Leaning in she watches her breath fog the glass. “Morana.” Her mother's name sounds strange on her tongue, like it's something she shouldn't even be saying at all.

The fog from her breath rapidly evaporates, taking the blood with it.

It takes a while longer for her to hear the crackling ice sound from last time, is it her mirror? The fae version of call waiting? It's her mother who 'answers'. “Lydia, my dear. It is wonderful to hear from you.” She's sitting in a carved and padded chair, maybe in front of a vanity like Lydia's own?

She manages a smile. “Hello mother, this isn't exactly a social call.” Maybe when she's asked her mother all she can about manticores they can be social, but protecting Beacon Hills kind of comes before catching up with her birth mother.

“Of course,” Morana inclines her head slightly. “What may I help you with?”

“What do you know about manticores?” She's desperately hoping for something, though how she might explain how she got any new information is beyond her at the moment. Lydia recognizes the slightly scrunched nose, and slightly narrowed eyes from the few times she's caught it on her own face in the mirror. Her mother's thinking.

After a few more moments of silence: “I know they are creatures of air and earth, and so natural to the planet.”—Lydia nearly bites through her tongue trying to hold back the whole host of questions those off-hand words rouse—“They enjoy hunting and eating humans, and very few mortals escape them. Their venom incapacitates their victims making it-”

“Do you know how to kill one?” Lydia interrupts, it might be incredibly rude, but it's also necessary.

Her mother doesn't answer right away, though Lydia sees her nails tap against the arm of her chair. “That may be a question better suited for your aunt, for maticores are beasts of the hot places of the world. Though if you are willing to be patient I will see if my own library has anything on the subject.”

A sliver of Lydia is disappointed that her mother didn't know right off the top of her head. If Jordan was over a thousand years old, then how old was her mother? Shouldn't she already know? She watches her mother stand up and leave the frame of the mirror.

Lydia herself leans forward to rest her her forehead on her arms. Why was this so hard? Nearly everything she'd, and Jordan and Peter, found said the exact same thing about manticores, or near enough as to make no difference. Which to Lydia spoke of it all being probably true, but not a single word on how one might kill a manticore, or even wound it.

Jordan had gone so far as to recall that he'd seen a manticore corpse once on a battlefield, the wounds inflicted upon it oddly cauterized, but that barely told her anything—except that this thing could be killed, thank god. Someone _somewhere_ had to know how to kill this thing. Scott, thankfully, seemed to get that they _did_ need to kill it, that this wasn't the sort of creature you could reason with.

Something like fear coiled in her gut. What would happen if they couldn't find a way to kill the manticore? If it started killing and eating everyone? Would there have to be another 'mountain lion' story?

“Lydia?” Her mother's voice snaps her out of her spiral and Lydia looks back in the mirror to see her back in her seat. “I do not know how much use it might be to you, but I did find this.” She held up a book, one that looked like it might be as old as the _Acta Eruditorum_ Danny got her. “Do you speak French?”

“Yes, and both forms of Latin, and Aeolic Greek.” Though she hasn't tried to pick up a new language recently.

A smile dances across Morana's lips. “Clever girl,” Lydia flushes. “It is good, then, that I had a French translation along with the original Farsi text.” Lydia's eyes widen when she sees her mother reach out of frame and return with a needle, she jabs the needle into the pad of her thumb, squeezing until blood begins to pool. Some of the blood gets dripped on the book—which causes Lydia to wince—the rest gets smeared over what must be Morana's mirror. The action causes _Lydia's_ mirror to ripple.

The surprise Lydia's feeling turns to utter shock when Morana's hand, still holding the book, _emerges_ from the mirror. Mutely Lydia takes the book, and watches her mother's hand return to the mirror. “How did you do that?” Lydia hadn't even known that was something that could be _done_. She's coming to realize though that there's a lot she doesn't know—which excites her more than anything to be honest.

“Object transference through mirrors can only be done with those whom you share DNA.” Her mother's voice takes on a quality Lydia associates with teachers—not as surprising as hearing her mother mention DNA. “Once you have both place blood upon the mirrors and then on the object in question it is only a matter of resonating the blood to act as a conduit for the item.” Which doesn't sound like anything that Lydia could learn quickly, or to have be truly useful if it only works within family. “If you would like I can show you how it is done when you come to visit.”

Lydia gives herself a mental shake, that's right, Morana wanted her, and she's sure by extension Jordan and Peter, to come visit during the summer solstice. “I would appreciate that.” It might not be the most useful thing to learn at the moment, but she can see how it might be very useful to know down the line. “I also appreciate the book, I'll try to take good care of it.”

Morana inclines her head slightly. “I'm sure the librarian would appreciate that.” Librarian? Did fae hold human type jobs? Did the courts have their own currency? Or was it more barter/trade based? Lydia gave herself a shake, she could wonder about that sort of thing later; and maybe grill Jordan for answers. “Do you have some time? Or is there a deadline to your research?”

Pulling out her phone Lydia checked the time, she still had half an hour before she promised to go over to Danny's. While everyone wanted to deal with the manticore ASAP, Stiles had gotten his dad to place a moratorium on people going into the preserve—though she knew that wouldn't stop everyone—so hopefully there wouldn't be too many casualties. “I've got about a half an hour before I've got somewhere else to be.”

“Good then perhaps we could begin to plan your stay over the solstice?”

Lydia nods.

—

Danny hugs Lydia soon as she gets in the door. “Hi.”

She returns the hug, squeezing him back. The plastic bag she's holding rustling. “Hey, this is nice, if unexpected.”

He doesn't even care. He lets go before shrugging, “I've had a rocky few days. Come on, I've got all the stuff upstairs already.”

“You're gonna tell me about it right?” She lifts up her bag and gives it an emphatic shake. “If you don't I probably won't share my doughnuts with you.”

“The ones from Lucy's?” His mouth waters a little, while none of the stuff he's had can really compare to the heavenly doughnuts he used to have in Hawai'i, the ones at Lucy's Deli come the closest.

Lydia's 'bitch please' stare hardly phases him as they head up the stairs. “Like I'd buy any others? You know me better than that Danny.” She toes off her shoes as they get into his room. “What's on the menu for today?” She tilts her head slightly at the postcard covered wall he's covered with a sheet. He may or may not have done it yesterday after he'd woken up a second time, even though he hadn't had any sort of plans to use his projector yesterday.

“60s B sci-fi.” He goes over to his laptop and brings up the three movies he'd picked out. If his mom and sister hadn't been downstairs he would've totally done the worst porn he could find, because they both needed something to laugh uproariously about. Today's not that day.

He hears his mini-fridge open and Lydia begin to root around in it. “Awesome. Drink?”

“I'm good.” He starts the playlist then goes over to turn off the lights. Joining Lydia on the bed he accepts the Twix she offers as he settles down next to her. As the credits begin to roll Lydia rests her head on his shoulder. “You know this won't be half as fun with no popcorn to toss.”

A snort escapes him. “You want to clean up my carpet when we're done be my guest.”

Lydia pinches the back of his hand with her nails. “Ass.” She opens a Toblerone. “Ooo _Lost World_? You know me too well.”

For the first thirty or so minutes of the film they only lampoon. Working up a good comedy rhythm and a few running gags. He pulls out the pint of Americone dream and two plastic spoons, and she gets that things are going to get serious. He still doesn't talk until they've started to make a dent in the ice cream. “Ethan called me yesterday morning.” He finally says, the relief of telling someone staggering.

“Well fuck.” She looks at him, a little wide-eyed, but doesn't say anything else. Letting him dictate whether or not that's a good or bad thing. Oh Pele, he loves that about her.

He takes a few more spoonfuls of ice cream for courage. “He said he might be coming back into town.”

Lydia takes another spoonful herself. “Do you want him too?”

“I don't know.” His shoulders slump. “I feel like I _should_ know, and it's the worst.”

Reaching around him Lydia puts her spoon down on his nightstand then hugs him tightly. “Whatever you decide I'm here for you, no questions. You want to date him again, you damn well can. You never want to see him again, I make sure it happens. If he bothers you too much.” Her expression darkens. “Well I can probably make him disappear if you want me to.”

He's sure there are lots of guys who'd laugh those words off, or find them disturbing. Danny finds he's not either. Gingerly—he'd rather not get ice cream on her—he returns the hug. “Thanks, I...really kind of needed that.”

She briefly squeezes even tighter before letting go, grabbing her spoon, and returning to her previous position. “It's no problem at all. Being the best friend of a fae princess has to count for something right?”

“Princess?” He doesn't remember _that_ from the time they talked about it.

Lydia's head dips a little and she grows engrossed in the poor acting before them. “Yeah,” she finally answers. “I didn't tell you earlier because I didn't quite believe it myself. It's only really started to sink in since I started dating Jordan.” Something Danny wholeheartedly supports. For the next ten minutes or so they remain silent, until Lydia blurts out: “I met my birth mother on my birthday.” She sticks her spoon into her mouth as if to keep herself from saying anything else.

This he's got to hear. “How'd it go? Is she what you expected? Does she have.” He wiggles his fingers. “Weird appendages?”

As expected Lydia laughs and gives him a little shove. “Doof. No she doesn't have any weird appendages. And she's...nice, I guess.” She shrugs. “Or to me she is, I don't know what she's like in front of other people.” Danny doesn't quite get that until his mind connects the fact that if Lydia's a princess then it means that her mother must be a queen—who didn't necessarily have to be 'nice' to run a country/ queendom/ whatever the name for a group of faeries was.

“Do you want to see what she looks like? I think I can do that.” Lydia frowns a little.

“Sure.” He watches as Lydia puts down her spoon again and then lifts both her hands palms up. She closes her eyes and her face pinches in concentration.

Like, well, _magic_ a faint mist begins to emanate from her hands, unevenly clumping together before taking a female shape in a suit with long black hair. The rest of her features are indistinct at best, but Danny gets the basic idea. “Pretty,” in a purely aesthetic sense. The image pops like a soap bubble and Lydia's face relaxes, her eyes opening to look at him. “How'd it look?”

To be honest, or not? Which is a stupid question, this is Lydia, she won't accept anything lest than honesty about her work. “It wasn't the best, but I got the basic gist of it.”

Her shoulders slump, “I've never really tried just glamouring the air, I've always attached it to something.” Brow furrowing she continues. “I guess that's something I'm just going to have to ask Jordan about.”

That's right, he's fae too. “Is he any good in bed?”

Lydia shoves him for real this time, and he barely just manages to keep the ice cream from going everywhere. “Oh, this means war.”

She lifts up a pillow. “You're on Daniel Ikaika Mahealani.”

*

They eventually called a draw to their impromptu fight, just in time to see the last few minutes of the movie. Halfway through the credits they cut out and the second one begins.

Settling back into their spots Danny quickly stows the remaining half-melted ice cream in the freezer part of the fridge and pulls out two sodas. Lydia accepts her gracefully and takes a sip.

“Before I forget, you should stay away from the preserve for the time being.” From somewhere she unearths the rest of her Toblerone and eats another chunk.

Danny gives an exaggerated sigh, looks like Beacon Hills was going to have to reset it's 'x days since last supernatural attack' count. “What is it this time?” He just hopes it's not another evil witch who decides to murder him because of a school report.

Lydia chews slowly, buying herself time to think. Danny's pretty sure she isn't trying to come up with a lie. “A manticore,” she finally answers.

He frowns, the name not really drawing anything. His exposure to mythical creatures is limited to a Greek mythology class he took in middle school, and the few fantasy novels he's read on Lydia's recommendation. “Which one is that? The one the guy on the flying horse apparently didn't kill?”

She rolls her eyes affectionately. “No. That's the chimera, which was killed by Bellerophon riding Pegasus. Though a manticore probably looks similar. Just, don't go into the preserve, it's a man-killer.”

Deciding he's going to take her word for it he nods. “Alright, no late night jogs for me. Though it's not like I can defend myself.” Pretty much any animal's scared of fire, supernatural or not.

Which earns him an arched eyebrow. “Can you defend yourself from paralytic darts?”

Ah, no. “OK, you win. No stupid heroics for me.”

He feels one of her hands slither around his back in some 'not casual at all' type move, he let it happen. Right now he could use all the hugs she wants to give him.

—

Lydia awakes sweating and out of breath and feeling like she might die. As she struggles to get a hold of herself she tries to recall the nightmare that terrified her into wakefulness, but the harder she works to remember the faster it slips away.

Gingerly she rolls over a little to look at her clock, _five AM_ , with a whimper she rolls back to her original position and stares up at the ceiling. This is the third time in the past week she's had a nightmare that's woken her. She hates that she can't tell if this is because she's having a hard time dealing with everything that's happened to her, or if something new has rolled into town and is attacking her.

She finds herself wishing she had agreed to stay the night with Peter and Jordan again instead of going back to her own bed. She is not sure what it is, but so far they've managed to keep the nightmares away. She also knows the more she stays with them the more chance there is of Scott or Liam recognizing Peter's scent on her. At the moment she finds herself thinking that she's also so drenched in Jordan's scent right now that it's possible they couldn't even smell a lie on her right now—if she could lie.

After a few more fruitless minutes of being unable to get to sleep Lydia resigns herself to another early morning and gets up. Today is a school day. Downside is that she'll most likely be sleepy all day and she hates appearing anything less than attentive and ready.

—

Malia finds a modicum of comfort being surrounded by her pack this early in the day, since they'd arranged to meet before school started to start talking about how to deal with the manticore. Lydia sits on one side, nursing a large cup of tea, Liam's on her other. To be fair she'd taken that spot upon her own arrival, Liam'd been _hurt_ so he clearly needed looking after. He's acting embarrassed from her attention and she's not sure if it's because she's a girl, or if it's hormones—though on her part she sees him more like a pup that needs at least a _little_ supervision.

“...And that's all Deaton was able to tell me.” Stiles finishes, and Malia blinks, barely having heard anything he'd said. “Anyone have anything to add?”

There's silence for a moment and Malia's about to ask if they know how to kill it, but before she speaks up Lydia does first. “I have this.” She produces a book that smells like dust and cold. “It's a treatise on Persian monsters, I've really only skimmed it but there's a whole chapter on the manticore.”

Before she's even really finished speaking Stiles' snatched it from her hand. “Where'd you _get_ this? I thought Deaton was the monopoly on ye olde texts on the supernatural.”

Lydia looks away and there are tears in her eyes, even though Malia doesn't smell any salt. “I'd...I'd rather not say.” Her tone is dull and she hunches in on herself. Whatever Lydia's implying Scott apparently catches on, if the closed off look his face gets for a few seconds is any indication.

“Ugh, more French? Why can't the font of knowledge be in a language I can read for once? Like Polish.” He unceremoniously drops the book, Malia darts out and catches it before it hits the ground, gently placing it on Lydia's lap. “The next monster we go up against can only be a golem, capisce?” Malia doesn't know what that is, but she doesn't really care.

“Thank you for that educating commentary Stiles,” Lydia's voice is dry and full of what Malia thinks is sarcasm. “Be glad it's not in the original Farsi.”

Kira huffs and rolls her eyes at the both of them. “Do you think you could read through the chapter and let us know after school today?”

“Fine,” Lydia sighs. Tucking the book back into her purse she stands. “Then I'm headed off to class, try to remember to text me if something happens.” Before Malia can protest that _of course_ she'd text Lydia if something happened Lydia was gone.

“Geesh, talk about a cold snap.” Stiles sounds halfway between glee and anger. “Things starting to sour in paradise?” Malia highly doubts it, though maybe the rules are different when you're with two guys. Or was that some sort of one time deal? And did she dare ask Lydia about it?

Scott reaches out and shoves his best friend. “Don't be such an ass Stiles, she's the one who thought to go to Chris' and raid the library.” His face grew long. “She misses Allison too.” Kira wraps her arms around Scott and squeezes.

Next to her Malia can feel Liam shift his weight and tense a little. Without thinking she reaches out and touches his jeans. He starts and looks at her, she shakes her head, hoping that's enough to tell him not to talk. It's obvious from his expression he doesn't understand what's going on, but right now at least Malia's not willing to tell him about Allison.

The warning bell rings, yanking them all out of their respective stupors. Their goodbyes are still muted however as they all head to their respective classes.

—

When Mason doesn't see Lydia at the popular table he gets a little worried and decides to go find her. He can eat his own lunch on the go. It's about halfway through lunch time before he finally does find her, squirreled away in a lonely corner of the library, her nose in an old book. As he gets closer he can hear her muttering in what might be French.

“Lydia?” He stops a few steps away from her.

She starts and her head jerks up. “Mason!” Her eyes dart around, as if in fear some librarian will sprout from the stacks to chastise her for her outburst. “What are you doing here?”

He sits down next to her, eyes landing on her own untouched lunch. As subtly as possible he nudges it towards her, kind of hoping she'll eat. “I wanted to hang out, and I didn't see you at the popular table so I went looking.”

“You could've just texted me,” she reminds with an arched eyebrow.

A blush creeps across his cheeks, though hopefully not enough to actually show against his skin. “Oh, yeah.”

Her smile is warm. “What'd you want to talk about?” She picks up a baggie full of carrots and pulls one out.

“Nothing specific really, just wanted to...talk.” Wow, way to answer a question. To distract them both he gestures at her book. “What're you reading?”

She glances back down at the book and her shoulders slump a little. “Something that'll hopefully help us kill the manticore.” One of her hands comes up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “It's not being as helpful as I thought it would be.” Taking a bit out of her carrot she chews contemplatively. “I'm only halfway through this and I feel like I might start talking in a bad French accent if I keep this up.”

“Can I?” He makes as if to take the book. She nods and he actually does so, eyes darting over the vaguely archaic French copperplate.

He marks her spot as he turns the page, though he doesn't quite know why he's doing it. It's not like his first year French would be enough to help her out. “All I've gotten is a lot of flowery language,” she gripes. “The only time the word 'kill' has been mentioned is next to 'Allah's flashing spears', whatever the hell that means.”

His head shoots up. “Say that again.”

“What? 'Allah's flashing spears'? Besides being a exclamation fit for the Victorian era I'm not sure how much help it's going to be. Unless you've got a red phone that can dial god.” She finishes off her carrot.

Flipping the back to her page he sets the book down. “It's a euphemism, or it is in the Bible.” Considering he reads a bit of it every Sunday he should know.

Lydia straightens, eyes bright. “Euphemism for what, exactly?” An eager note threads her voice.

“Lightning.”

Wow, she's hugging him. That's a peck on his cheek, yeah she's a girl but...woah. “You.” She declares. “Are the best.” She gives him another hug before letting go. “And _thank you_ for sharing that with me, at least maybe now we can get somewhere at this afternoon's meeting.” Something in him gets a little angry at that, no one told _him_ there were meeting about all this, not even Lydia.

Who reads his stormy expression enough that her face softens. “Shit, sorry. Look, I'm still getting used to stuff myself. I apologize for not doing what I said I would, but I most certainly _will_ call you after the second one and let you know what's up alright?”

He nods, believing her, for now. People made mistakes all the time, and at least Lydia is owning up to hers. He hopes she does keep her promise though, hiding stuff like that from your friends is just _wrong_. The lunch bell rings, surprising them both. Closing the book Lydia puts it away, along with the rest of her uneaten lunch. “I'll call you,” she gives him a bright smile. “Thanks again.” With that she walks out of the library.

In a rush he packs his own things. When this was over he and Liam were going to have another _talk_ about keeping secrets.

—

Scott sits on one of the picnic tables, legs dangling over the edges and eying the gray clouds creeping in. Just like this morning Kira and Stiles are on either side of him, while on another table that they pulled closer sits Lydia, Malia, and Liam. Looking over his rag-tag pack Scott feels warmth flood him. These are _his_ people, the ones who will have his back no matter what. It's the best he's felt in months.

“I think I know how the manticore can be killed.” Lydia sounds inordinately pleased with herself.

Before Stiles can even think to roll his eyes Scott pokes him gently. Stiles huffs. “Are you going to share with the rest of the class?”

The glare Lydia gives him could probably wither plants. “Of course I am Stiles, it's lightning.”

Almost as one everyone turns to Kira. Who flushes in that adorable way of hers. “How do you know?” Kira asks, trying to deflect so much attention from her.

“It was Mason who helped me figure it out.” Scott hasn't really thought much about Liam's best friend. Maybe he should be. At this point he's not going to ask Mason if he wants the bite, Scott will regret to his dying day that he did that to Liam without his permission—he's not Peter _he's not—_ but the pack could use someone like him in it. “...and he told me that 'Allah's bright spears' was a reference to lightning.” Scott briefly chides himself for zoning out during her explanation.

“Now we've got a 'how',” Scott finally speaks. “We don't exactly have a _how_?” He squeezes Kira's hand in his own. Most of him hates that they're going to have to kill this thing, but it's trying to kill _people_. So far there hadn't been any reports of bodies found, but the sheriff was keeping an eye on things, and well the preserve was _big._  Big enough that you could hid a body and not have it be found for a good long while. With the fervor of a prayer Scott hopes that no one's been killed yet.

“We just have Kira zap it,” Liam says. “That sounds pretty straightforward to me.”

Scott can tell how hard Stiles is resisting to roll his eyes. “Sure that's the _end_ of the plan, but how are we going to get the manticore in a position where Kira can get it unimpeded?”

“It'd be better if it were in a clearing,” Kira points out. “I mean if push came to shove I could probably do what I did at La Iglesia, but those were flukes. Mom and I have been working on actually controlling it, but right now if I want more control doing it under open skin would be best.”

With that they begin trying to hash out a plan. They get into it enough that they all lose track of time, at least until Stiles' phone rings. “Shit. It's almost four.” He scoops his bag up and answers his phone, jogging off to his Jeep. “Hey dad, yeah I know. No, that doesn't mean you get to have curly fries tonight...” Considering nothing's wrong Scott turns his attention back to everyone else.

“So then that sounds like a good idea?” While he'd put his foot down and insisted that Liam sit this one out, Scott just wanted him to have as normal a life as possible, he doesn't like that Stiles refused to do the same; even if he'd be joining Scott in making sure Kira stayed safe.

Granted not as much as he'd hated the idea of Malia playing bush-beater by herself, until Lydia had reminded them all that they could call Derek for help. He's still a little leery about the fact that she said Parrish could help as well, he hasn't forgotten that they still don't know what Parrish is. Right now he can't exactly afford to be that choosey, and anyways, Parrish is a good guy.

Everyone nods and they go their separate ways, now all they've go to do is pull off the plan tomorrow without a hitch.

—

The first thing Lydia does as she pulls out of the school parking lot is call Mason. Feeling only an inkling of worry when he doesn't pick up. She leaves a message giving him a brief sketch of tomorrow's plan, and telling him in no uncertain terms that after school Liam, Danny, and he are coming over to her house for movies. If she's going to willingly sit this one out than she's going to make sure that the rest of her friends are _safe_.

Hanging up she focuses on getting to Jordan's. She could use a workout.

*

Forty-five minutes later she's getting her wish, as well as regretting she hasn't eaten much today—first because of the nightmares and then because she'd been researching. Thanks to her inattention Jordan keeps her pinned on the mats again; they'd moved on from escaping holds to pins. “Lydia, if you're not going to pay attention then we're stopping.”

She sighs but knows he's right. “Fine,” her acceptance doesn't stop her from sounding sullen.

He lets go and slowly she pushes herself upright. Since it'd starting raining on the drive here they'd done training in the basement, which had an appearance somewhere between armory and what little she'd seen of dojos. About half the floors and walls were covered in mats like the one she's sitting on, while the other was bristling with all manner of weapons, most of which she'd couldn't name. In a place of honor in one of the corners though is a plain suit of armor and a sword she's not sure she wants to touch.

Footsteps one the stairs draw her from her observations, looking up she sees Peter carrying a tray of finger food and a pitcher full of water. Her stomach gives it's equivalent of 'finally'. Ignoring the look Jordan gives her at the sound she bounds over to Peter giving him a peck on the cheek and taking half a PB&J sandwich shoves a few bites into her mouth. “You’re the best,” she tells him after she swallows.

“Of course I am,” Peter replies as he sets the tray down in a cleared off corner of what’s probably a workbench.

Once she's finished with the sandwich, taking off the fine edge of her hunger—she _will_ eat more but she needs to talk to them first. “So, Mason and I figured out how to kill the manticore this afternoon.” He has no idea how grateful she is to him for that. She's sure she would have eventually figured it out on her own, but it would have taken longer.

Peter and Jordan look at her in interest. Jordan gets a little water on himself in the process and Peter arches an eyebrow—whether at her or Jordan is up for debate. “Are you going to tell us, or leave us hanging in suspense?” Ah, so the eyebrow was at her then.

Reaching over she shoves Peter lightly. “Duh I'm going to tell you.” _Not_ telling them would be beyond foolish. “It's lightning.” She tells them the plan the pack worked out this afternoon.

“You're not going to help?” What Jordan says sounds halfway between a question and a statement.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Jordan. I'm not going to help.” A part of her hates it though, that she can't pull the sort of weight she wants to. It pales in comparison to everything else. She can't just think of herself anymore, she's a _princess_ _—_ even if right now that still only feels like just a word—and as Jordan keeps insisting she shouldn't have to fight her own battles unless absolutely necessary. “I'll be safe at my house watching movies with Danny, Mason, and Liam.” Even _Scott_ knew that, in fact he'd insisted Liam be with her, clearly worried that his Beta hadn't healed enough to help out.

Liam had balked but eventually given in.

“Good.” Peter envelopes her in a hug.

She squeezes back before pulling away. “I wanted to talk to you two about that.” Both of them tense a little, preparing themselves. She hopes both with agree with her on this. So she finishes off the sandwich and takes a sip of water to give them all time.

“I told Scott that Jordan would help out tomorrow.” Scott had balked just as much at that as he had insisted that Liam _not_ help. She had argued her her point: with Scott and Stiles staying around Kira it left Malia _alone._  Jordan with his gun could stay out of striking range of the manticore—though she highly doubted that Jordan would be bringing a gun. If Peter goes too she feels certain that would be more than enough to drive the manticore where it needed to be driven.

Jordan nods. “Of course I will, I want this thing gone just as much as anyone else.”

Now all she has to do is convince Peter to help too. She turns her full attention to him, Peter's changed over the past few months but she doesn't quite know if asking him will be enough for him to do it. Nothing ventured... “I was hoping you would help too Peter. I didn't bring it up with Scott”—she'd been surprised when Scott hadn't even mentioned telling Derek, or Satomi about it—“But I would feel a lot better if I knew you were there helping Malia too.” She gave him a wry smile. “Scott doesn't even have to know you're there if you don't want him too.”

Now that she's said her piece she goes back to eating, she's got a lot to make up for.

She finds herself only a little worried by the silent treatment Peter gives the both of them. But at least she can tell it's not to snub them, he's genuinely thinking. So at this point she's just happy he didn't flat out say no; the fact that he's _thinking_ about it, speaking volumes as to how he'd changed in the past year. Instead she focuses on what she can do, eating until her stomach cries uncle. Finishing off her water she leans against the nearest wall and just breaths. She feels more than sees Jordan take the spot next to her, his hand coming to tangle with her own, thumb running soothing circles over her pulse. While she won't deny for a second that she loves the sex, it's moments like this that are almost better.

Finally Peter answers. “Alright, I'll help.”

Breaking away from Jordan she goes back to Peter this time giving _him_ a hug. “You have no idea how better that makes me feel,” she says into his shirt. She's not lying. knowing that Peter and Jordan will both be there is a huge load off her shoulders. She hopes that Scott will do the right thing and help kill the manticore, but she doesn't _trust_ him. Not with his current track record. But she trusts that Peter and Jordan will, that they'll be able to do whatever it takes to make sure that monster dies.

She pulls away enough to tilt her head so she can look him straight in the eye. “I want that thing dead, but not as much as I want the both of you to stay alive.” She turns her head so she can stare down Jordan for a moment. “Don't you dare die out there tomorrow. Otherwise I'll be forced to bring you back to life so I can kill you myself for doing something so stupid.”

Peter laughs, and squeezes her tightly against him. “This is me we're talking about sweetheart.” His hands scoop up her ass and hoist her up to him so he can nose at her face. “I'm not planning on dying again any time soon.” He feathers a kiss across her cheek. “I'll keep an eye on Jordan, make sure he doesn't do anything _too_ heroic.”

“Hey,” Jordan exclaims indignantly, but it's ruined by him laughing. “Come over here and say that to me.”

The exasperation on Peter's face makes her grin. “Oh gladly,” he tells Jordan as he sets her back down. Leaning against the wall she slides down until she's sitting on the floor, this should be fun.

She blinks and Peter and Jordan are on the mats, wrestling. A laugh escapes her at the sight, it's almost adorable in a way, like watching puppies play. Still laughing a little she shouts: “Come on! Take his clothes off!” They'll each probably think it's directed at only himself, but regardless they all kind of win.

Jordan's shirt is the first casualty and she wolf-whistles.

This is exactly where she wants to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: we're off to kill the manticore. . .
> 
> The french toast Peter makes is crème brule french toast and it is the shit; also sugary as all get out (whenever I get it I can only finish half a slice before my teeth cry uncle). You can find various recipes online if you're curious to try it yourself.
> 
> Also while as far as I know 'Allah's bright spears' isn't actually used in any Muslim texts, it is used once in the Bible (Habakkuk ch 3 vs 13 if you're curious).


	25. Chapter 25

Malia bounces on her heels, eager to start tracking the manticore. She and Parrish have to wait for everyone else to get into position first. To give herself something to do she sneaks another glance at Parrish, as if he'd changed again in the minute or so since she last looked. Then again he'd managed to produce a _sword_ after Scott and the others had left. So far she's only seen the handle part—the metal sticking out on the sides is twisted into branches while there are silver vines slightly raised on the bit she assumes his hands actually hold—but she doesn't doubt that it's sharp and that Parrish is more than willing to use it.

She's got her ears attuned to their surroundings so the crackling of branches has her instantly alert. _Please don't be the manticore_ , she's more than happy to track and chase _it_ , but she'd rather not be on the receiving end of the reverse.

A few seconds later _Peter_ steps out from the trees.

She blinks at him in surprise, she hasn't seen her sire since they returned from finding her mom. So seeing him here is unexpected. Before she can even ask what he's doing here though Parrish speaks. “Took you long enough.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “I took the scenic route.”

There's no chance for her to even try and start to think about what that might mean; because the radio attached to her pants crackles. “We're in position,” Stiles tells her.

Unclipping it she forces herself to remember which button she's supposed to press to talk herself. Her thumb slides towards the one at the top and she's pretty damn sure it's the right one. Pressing it she speaks into the walky-talky. “Alright, heading in.”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Peter shift into beta form as they start walking and she finds herself following suit. Parrish's only a few steps behind the two of them. “Think you can keep up Jordan?” It sounds like her sire is _teasing_ the other man.

Parrish huffs. “I'm fast when I want to be.”

She tunes out their conversation as fast as she can. She's got a manticore to find.

—

Danny sits next to Lydia on her couch and absently checks his phone for the fifth time in ten minutes. Without her even having to look Lydia's hand shoots out trapping his phone against his jeans before he can put back. “Stop that,” she says quietly, looking like she's still paying attention to Shilo on screen singing about being infected. “I'm pretty damn sure if he calls you'll know.”

She's right, he's got his ringer turned all the way up, he'd have to suddenly go deaf to miss any phone call at the moment. He extracts his phone and hand from hers and puts his phone away. “I just...” He has no idea how to finish that. In fact there's a bit of him that hates that even after six month's he's still not over Ethan.

Lydia rolls her eyes affectionately. “I know. But give it time.” Time is pretty much all Danny's given it, that's what it feels like.

“I wanna watch the movie, can you two be quiet please?” Liam's voice breaks through their private bubble, reminding Danny that there are 'kids' present. Danny's not quite sure what to think of either of them. They seem to be as if someone had taken Scott and Stiles and puppies and just dumped them all together in a vat. Also Liam is about the most polite fifteen year old Danny's ever met.

In response Lydia tosses a popcorn kernel at him, except she hits Mason instead. “Sorry,” she stage whispers before trying again. This time at least she gets past Mason, but Liam catches it before it hits him. “Shush, you.” She sticks her tongue out like the adult she is.

Danny just rolls his eyes at all of them.

“Shush you.” Mason replies easily, stealing a handful of popcorn from the Lydia's bowl.

They fall silent for about all of twenty minutes, then Lydia leans towards him. “Lets see if we can get Zydrate stuck in their heads.”

He sighs.

—

Kira sits, lotus fashion, on the ground. Breathing deeply and trying to clear her mind like mom taught her, _Ten no Hinoken's_ blade resting across her knees. On either side of her she can hear Scott and Stiles shifting weight every so often, Scott on her left is a soothing buzz, while Stiles'is jerky and erratic. Mentally she takes the feeling of their auras and puts it off to the side, enough that they're less of a distraction, and focuses her attention upwards. The day's overcast, meaning it should be a little easier for her to call down lightning.

After La Igelesia she'd asked her mom for lightning lessons, or as much as her mom could teach her. If she'd known beforehand that she could pull and direct electricity from objects maybe things would have gone completely different. She puts that annoyed feeling aside too, dwelling on it's just going to distract her. More deep breaths and she starts to try and feel the streamers that will be trailing down to the ground.

They're faint, like she'd expected considering the weather, but there. But none of them are truly enough to do more than stun the manticore when it gets here; she needs a killer.

She spreads her net a little wider, praying feverishly that she can find what she's looking for. There _are_ enough negative streamers that if push came to shove she could just hit the manticore repeatedly until it died. Lightning's fast enough that she could probably do that before it really hurt anyone else.

Why do that when you could do it in one?

A loud staticky buzz fills her mind, nearly distracting her from her lightning search. A guy's voice, and she nearly snaps that everyone needs to shut up! She breaths again and lets it flow out, _don't dwell_. But she's going to guess that her time's just grown exponentially shorter. She's about to start panicking about it when she finally hits jackpot. _Positive_.

It's about a mile out, which she's perfectly fine with. As fast as she can she grounds Scott and Stiles. Feeling so very glad she insisted this happen in a clearing, she's not sure she could ground trees just yet. They're as safe as she can make them, she starts sending up her own negative streamer. _Lightning doesn't strike until two streamers meet_.

She does it slowly, to give Malia and Jordan time to actually drive the manticore where it needs to be. It turns out to be like a highly dangerous game of Marco Polo. High enough that she starts drawing the positive streamer towards them, but having her own streamer be where the positive _isn_ ' _t_ to prevent early discharge.

An angry roar fills the air, and Scott snarls.

Continuing to tease the positive streamer she rises, taking a guard position. Feet apart, _Ten no Hinoken_ pointed straight ahead the tip drifting down just enough. Sweat begins to bead on her brow as she readies herself. La Igelesia had been a fluke and she hasn't exactly had that much time to practice this thanks to school and lacrosse. That doesn't mean she _won't_ do it. She _will_ and in the process she'll save the whole town. There's a second snarl from Scott and she tenses, bushes crash and she acts.

Opening her eyes, all the better to actually _aim_ , she thrusts her negative stream straight up at the positive one. Neutralization happens before her brain can even process it. She doesn't need her brain to do it, not when she's got instinct to guide her. Her body fills with heat and power, too much in fact. She holds it in, preventing discharge until _she_ wants it.

 _Electricity will_ always _follow the path of least resistance_. There's the manticore, she tilts her sword slightly to the left and...

A thunderclap echoes right in her ear, rattling her very bones. Now that the lightning's discharged she feels washed out and hollow, like a glass bottle. Knees shaking she sinks to the ground, Scott, being a sweetheart, catches her before she manages to completely collapse. He's throwing off heat, and she's so fucking grateful. She burrows in, sucking up as much as she can. There are spots floating around her eyes, blurring Scott's features. “Did I get it?” She sounds hoarse, like the lightning fried her vocal chords a little.

Scott gives her a huge smile. “Yeah, you got it.”

 _Oh good_ , she blacks out.

—

Stiles never wants to smell fried manticore ever again if he can help it. It reminds him of cooked meat, except somehow a million times worse.

On the far side of the clearing the manticore corpse lies smoking. A charred and cauterized hole, surprisingly small in diameter, leads to somewhere pretty close to it's heart if Stiles had to guess. The thing's still twitching rapidly, muscles still spasming from all the leftover electricity. Stiles should probably find it a lot more interesting than it is, except that as the manticore was struck he'd seen someone heading away from the clearing at a rapid pace.

It couldn't have been Derek or one of Satomi's pack. Stiles'd like to think either would have waited until everything was over then made themselves known. It could have been a plain old human, but once again Stiles thinks that sheer curiosity would have made them hang around. Fear ices through him. _Was someone_ controlling _the manticore_?

At a certain level that made sense, besides Mason and Liam there hadn't been any reports filed recently about a strange animal in the preserve. Nor had there been any reports of bodies, eaten or otherwise. H _ow_ could someone control something like that? And _why_? There were probably more than a few supernaturally inclined people who might want the pack dead. None with the sort of know-how that might allow control of a creature like that, if such a thing was even possible. Something to ask Deaton about later.

Speaking of Deaton...

Malia and Parrish are now standing next to the body, trying to figure out what to do with it. He goes over, Malia gives him an assessing eyebrow. “Do you think we can eat it?”

The expression on Jordan's face is about how Stiles feels about that. Amused but a little grossed out too. “How about we not,” Stiles replies. “I'd rather not risk any sort of poisoning just because I wanted to feel superior.”

“Deaton'll probably want it.” Scott says as he approaches, Kira in his arms.

Malia's forehead furrows in concern. “Is she alright?”

Scott nods. “She said something might happen like this yesterday. Said all she'd need afterwards is somewhere warm and some food when she woke up.” Explained why Scott wasn't the panic-mode Alpha he was on Saturday. Which means in the meantime they're all going to have to fit in his Jeep—well except Parrish who'd come in his own car—and he doesn't like the idea of schlepping around a manticore corpse.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Parrish squat at the head end of the manticore. “Can you grab the other side Malia.”

She goes to do so, but she's still frowning. “I can carry it on my own,” she protests. She gets a look Stiles knows all too well 'I can out-stubborn you to the end of the earth if I have to'. It took Stiles _forever_ to break it down and finally get her to try pizza—and then she hadn't even liked it! How could you not like pizza?

“I could probably carry it on my own too,” Jordan says...wait, what? “I'd rather not.”

Malia narrows her eyes at him as if trying to determine if he's telling the truth or not. Then goes over to the middle and crouching down gets her arms around the manticore's belly and hoists it onto her shoulder. “You can carry it if I get tired,” she tells Parrish magnanimously. Parrish just huffs, but follows after her; starting them all off on the winding trail back to the Jeep. Once there they load the manticore into his Jeep, and he's certain he's never going to get the smell out. Parrish offers to drive Malia home, leaving him to only have to drop off Scott and Kira.

Which he does easily enough, telling Scott to call him if something happened. Then heads over to Deaton's, wondering how the hell two measly humans are going to get that hulking corpse into the clinic. Once there he parks a little out of the way, he's surprised none of the deputies stopped him for the strange shape in the back of the Jeep, then bounds into the waiting room of the clinic. Deaton's not there, so Stiles rings the call bell a few times. “Dr. Deaton?”

After a few seconds he gets an answer. “Back here Stiles.”

He jogs deeper into the clinic, finding Deaton and a customer in one of the examination rooms with a dog. Stiles gets to indulge in playing a spy. “Uh, Scott said you were expecting me, I've got the package you wanted.”

Deaton nods. “Just drive around to the back, I'll help you unload when I've finished with whiskers here.” Wow, someone named their _dog_ whiskers? The mind boggled.

“Alright.” Stiles returns to his Jeep and drives it around to the back, fingers tapping in time to the music as he waits for Deaton to come out. He does a lot sooner than Stiles expected, with what looks like a wheeling hospital bed. It takes a lot of maneuvering and elbow grease, but they do eventually get the manticore inside. Stiles watches raptly as Deaton pulls on a fresh pair of gloves and gets out all sorts of medical instruments. “What're you going to do?”

“A biopsy.” Deaton answers. “Then breaking it down to dispose of.”

Stiles is so down for that. “Can I help?”

Deaton nods. “Wash your hands, then gloves.”

As they get started Stiles wonders if he should mention the person he'd seen—he hadn't even told Scott yet—then decided why the hell not. At the very least it'd be a learning experience. “Do you think anyone could control a manticore?”

Barely looking phased by the question Deaton raises an eyebrow.

Taking that as a sign he should elaborate—Stiles is the boss of reading non-verbal cues like that—he tells Deaton what he saw.

When he finishes Deaton gives one of those sagacious smiles. “A good theory Stiles. Lucky for you there are quite a few concoctions that allow you to see what sort of spells might have been placed on a creature. Can you grab the verbena from the cabinet? It should be labeled.”

As far as the start of his first official magic lesson it's not exactly huge, but Stiles learns a lot.

—

Peter sits on Lydia's couch absently listening to the end credits of the movie they just finished. None of them willing to get up to turn everything off—Peter has no idea where the remote is. Lydia sits on his lap, head propped against his shoulder, legs outstretched onto Jordan's lap. Jordan himself is relaxed, nearly slouching against the couch back, hands absently massaging Lydia's feet.

It's...nice, even he's relaxing—save for the part of him that's paranoid that something horrible will happen if he doesn't keep his guard up. It feels like Saturday had, except without the talking. This feels like a pack should, easy comfort and being more than happy to be with the people you care about. It actually scares him some that he'd unknowingly missed the feeling. He's also glad they're getting some rare mid-week together time, thanks to Lydia's mom being out on a date.

“I've been thinking,” Lydia's breath raises goosebumps on his neck as she speaks. “Since I've started to get the hang of glamours.” She shifts positions a bit, letting her actually look at Jordan. “Do you think you could help me start to figure out my cold powers?”

At odd times Peter will find himself struck by the fact that his two lovers are even less human than he arguably is. Overall he's accepted it, it doesn't really change either of them at all, except for not being able to use cast iron in cooking, massive sweet teeth, and other little things of that nature. It's interesting to see Lydia change and adapt to all the new things she encounters through Jordan.

Speaking of, Jordan's shoulder brushes Peter's own as he shrugs. “Sure. It should be easier to learn that glamour. Though to be honest my own cold powers aren't all that strong.” Peter wonders why that is. Something about Jordan's own nature? Or simply because of Lydia's lineage? The fact she's a princess _still_ surprises him.

Lydia shrugs too. “You don't have to be powerful to be good at something.”

Jordan's lips twitch in a smile and he raises up Lydia's feet to kiss the ankle of each before getting up and setting them back in Jordan's seat. “Be right back then.” He stops to turn off the TV and DVD player on his way out. Peter's own curiosity is definitely piqued, outside of helping with combat Peter doesn't have much experience with Lydia's lessons. It'll be interesting to see how it goes.

Jordan soon returns, a glass of water in his hands. “Overall the idea is simple enough,” he holds out the glass for Lydia to take. She turns so that her back is pressing up against Peter's front then does so carefully, making sure not to spill on Peter. “Though it'll probably sound silly to explain.” Jordan sits on the coffee table like a heathen. “You just need to think, well, cold thoughts and try and push that cold into the glass to freeze the water.”

Peter watches, fascinated, as Lydia nods, puts her other hand on the glass to steady it, then closes her eyes, taking deep breaths. At first nothing much seems to happen, but when Peter actually focuses on the glass he sees a thin rim of frost begin to form. It vanishes just as quickly though and Lydia frowns. Reaching out Jordan gives her an encouraging nudge. "Good first try. Now just keep trying, don't let yourself get too frustrated alright.”

They keep trying for a whole half hour. After her latest failed attempt Lydia gives an aggravated sigh and opens her eyes. “I thought you said this would be easy,” she snaps. In an attempt to calm her Peter puts a hand on her bare knee, thumb brushing lightly against the curve of it. He feels her leg twitch when he starts, but she gets used to it.

Holding his hands out Jordan tries his own brand of comfort. “Don't be too hard on yourself Lydia, you've only just started. I'm not exactly expecting you to be an expert after the first lesson.”

Lydia's shoulders slump. “It feels like I _should_ though. There's just something I'm clearly not getting.” She doesn't sound as angry as before, but Peter can tell what anger she has left is directed at herself now.

Which won't do at all. Without meaning to he and Jordan move at the same time, him to pull Lydia firmly against him and Jordan to take the glass out of her hands. Weaving his fingers in her own, thumbs brushing the lines of her veins. “We're here for you Lydia,” Peter says, aiming as best he can for soothing.

“Lets take a little break and come back to it later alright? How about some food?” Jordan gives them both a small smile.

They're halfway through dinner, spaghetti with clam sauce, when a thought comes to Peter. But he has the sense of mind to finish chewing before speaking it, which gives him time to roll it around in his head and think it through first. “What if you're just going about it the wrong way?”

Lydia blinks at him from over her glass of white wine—if she wanted to raid her mother's fridge for a beverage that wasn't going to do anything for her he wasn't going to stop her—for a few seconds before responding. “What do you mean?”

Peter twirls his fork around, aware that they're both focused on him now—good thing he didn't have a self-conscious bone in his body. “Just that perhaps you should try creating cold a different way.” Alright, he's leading them both on a bit, he knows, but he wants to see how they'll react when he finally suggests it.

Jordan arches an eyebrow. “Do you have a suggestion? Or are you just pulling our legs.”

Not so subtly Peter knocks his knee against one of Jordan's—not as easy with more space between them than usual. “Of course I have a suggestion.”

—

When Stiles and Deaton finish Stiles is abuzz with ideas and knowledge, and it's _awesome_. As long as he doesn't get into the implications of what he'd learned today. Once in his Jeep he pulls up his phone and dials Scott.

“Stiles?”

“Hey, you got some time? I think we need to talk?” While Deaton was certain nothing had been overtly controlling the manticore, _someone_ had been there watching them kill it. Just because it hadn't been controlled didn't mean someone hadn't lead it there and influenced what it'd done.

Over the line he hears the sounds of dishes and he glances at the dashboard clock, _6:45? Shit_ , he'd completely missed dinner. “Yeah sure,” Scott's voice pulls him from his brief self-flagellation.

“I'll be right over.” Without waiting for a response from Scott he hangs up and tosses his phone onto the passenger seat. He can get something to eat from Melissa.

—

From his expression Lydia can tell Peter's milking this for all he's worth, and rolls her eyes. “Don't go saying it all at once now.”

He grins. “It seems to me that Jordan was just trying to have you do the end result. Make cold and the water will turn to ice.”

“That's generally how you do it Peter, you've got to make something cold before it will freeze.” Lydia agrees with Jordan, as if right now Peter seems only to be stating the obvious.

Peter gives a little sigh, “True.” He inclined his head slightly. “Here's a question for you Lydia: what exactly is 'cold'?”

What on earth is that sort of question, 'what is cold?' “It's a lack of heat.”

“And heat?”

She doesn't understand why Peter just doesn't straight up tell her, this is the most annoying game of twenty questions. “It's an excess of thermal energy...” There's something in there that she thinks is what Peter's trying to get her to understand. “What, you're suggesting I should trying pulling heat out instead of pushing cold in?” She never thought she'd be trying to apply science to magic. Thermodynamically it makes sense.

“Why not?” He shrugs and takes another bite of his spaghetti.

Turning her head she looks at Jordan who shrugs. “To be honest some science stuff still confuses me. If you think it might work you might as well go ahead and try it.”

A frown crosses her face as she thinks about that. A different approach, but how the hell would one go about trying it out. She couldn't exactly pull _energy_ out of an object; except that's exactly what making something cold _was_. How to implement? She couldn't exactly pull cold from thin air, not this time of year. Perhaps something to try in the winter. Though she could see it just being an attempt to do as Jordan'd told her earlier. Closing her eyes she holds the glass of water in her hands once more; but this time instead of trying to push the cold into the glass and liquid she focuses it into her hands, making them as cold as she possibly can.

It's not exactly the most comfortable of feelings, even if she does have a higher resistance to cold than most. A crackling sound she finds she's all too familiar with reaches her ears and without thinking she opens her eyes. Her hands don't look like they've been frostbitten. But she's pleased to note that the contents of the glass while not completely frozen, resembles something akin to slush. Glancing up at Peter and Jordan it's hard to miss the proud looks each of them are wearing.

“Good job Lydia.” Jordan smiles.

Soon to be mimicked by one from Peter. “Indeed, you maybe even deserve a reward.”

Peter can be so transparent sometimes. “If by reward you mean cuddling then sure.” While she doesn't expect her mom home until late she'd rather not risk getting caught, just to be on the safe side. Which earns her a pout from Peter, but he doesn't push further.

Their general light mood continues as they clean up the kitchen then head up to her room.

Her tiny full bed barely fits the three of them, she likes it like that, makes it cozy. Peter grumbles a little about it thought. She huffs. “Then I guess you'll be glad to know I managed to find a Texas king mattress for us.” It's the first time she's talked with them about the lake house, and she even manages to catch herself by surprise by it. She never planned to _not_ tell them, but neither had really expressed much interest in the house; seemingly content to let her have fun with the particulars that will make the house their home.

Except there's a warm and strange light in Jordan's eyes, that elicits an answering echo in herself, as he smiles softly. “Tell us about it.”

She does, not going into excruciating detail, but going on about the floorplan—both of them tease her a little about the plan to have the third floor/ attic be the master bedroom—and the furniture and paints she's looking at. Eventually she runs out of things to talk about and they fall into a comfortable silence. Long enough that Lydia starts to drowse, the thought of possibly getting a good night's sleep an enticing one.

Through hooded eyes she watches as Peter absently walks a hand up Jordan's arm. “What about you? What are your powers?” The questions take her aback, mostly because she'd never thought to ask them herself; Jordan's personal powers seeming insignificant to learning how to use and control her own.

The start of a blush works it's way to Jordan's ears and he mumbles something unintelligible. Even to Peter if the way he pointedly cups his ear is any indication. “What's that dear?”

Because he's kind of being a dick about it Lydia has no problem in jabbing Peter's shoulder as hard as she can, grimacing at the pain that follows. “You don't have to answer Jordan if you don't want to.”

Jordan's blush deepened, if anything, and his hand snaked around to rest on her ribs. “I, well, I...encourage life, I guess is the best way to put it.”

She watches as one of Peter's hands grasps Jordan's free one. “What exactly does that entail?” Peter rests his chin on Jordan's shoulder.

“I can make things grow faster than the usually would, especially trees. Before I left to look for Lydia, couples would, uh, sometimes come to me with help”—his blush grows—“with conception.”

Lydia feels a blush begin to creep across her own cheeks. “Is that why you insisted on condoms on my birthday?”

He nods. “If we hadn't you would've ended up pregnant, whether you wanted to be or not.” He squeezes Peter's hand. “We didn't exactly want to stop and talk about something like that.”

Leaning in she gives his cheek a peck. “Thank you for that.” She does want children, _eventually_. Preferably while she's not still in high school—though that one's a technicality since she's graduating in June.

He returns the gesture with a brief kiss of his own. Peter lazily watching them through hooded eyes. “So you're like a fertility deity?”

Jordan laughs. “Oh _stars_ no. No, if I was I don't think any of the court would let me out of their sight. We don't have as many children as most of us would like. I'm more...” He wrinkles his nose, trying to find the right words. “Her Majesty told me that I was there to remind everyone that things still live, even in the middle of winter.”

She twitches when she feels Jordan's thumb begin to stroke along one of her ribs. “My sister did the opposite for Summer.”

Surprise floods her but she notices that the same couldn't be said for Peter. “You have a sister?” This is the first time she's heard Jordan mention her, or anything related to family, or even himself. She glances at Peter. “You knew?” She's a little hurt by that.

“Yeah,” Jordan's voice cracks a little.

Peter shrugs. “Jordan told me a few days ago, but not much beyond that he had one.”

“She's, she's not exactly well.” Jordan continues, turning his head to hide his face behind Peter's. “I don't...want to talk about this anymore.” Lydia has a million new questions she wants to ask but she bites her tongue. If she could hold back her urge to ask Peter about Talia last week, then she can extend the same favor to Jordan when he's clearly in the same boat. Instead she just rolls over to curl around Jordan, wrapping him in a hug.

She doesn't think he cries, but she's not sure what else to call it.

—

Scott sees Stiles to the door, tells his mom he's going upstairs to study, but once in his room he flops onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling.

 _Someone had watched them kill the manticore and he hadn't noticed_ ; then again he'd been pretty focused on Kira and making sure she wasn't hurt from what she'd done to kill the manticore—part of him flinches at that. Hearing all of Stiles' ideas hadn't really helped that either. Someone or some _thing_ might have been guiding the manticore. If that were so then they had yet another problem to deal with. _Why can't we ever catch a break?_ Just once, a year, hell even a _month_ , with nothing supernatural happening would be fantastic.

If someone was behind the manticore was it someone new or someone they'd already gone up against?

Instantly his mind jumps to Peter. Whom no one's seen hide nor hair of since Kate's death. Which worries Scott more than if he'd seen the older werewolf lurking about town. It would be just like him to indirectly control a man-eating monster. Scott knew full well that Peter didn't think he was all that great an Alpha because he refused to kill people. Peter was wrong about that, it was that very fact that made him a good Alpha.

 _He still needs to pay for what he's done_ , some dark corner of his mind whispers. _One way or another this is all his fault_.

Yes, he realizes with a start, that's exactly it.

—

Considering how well they kicked manticore ass Kira thinks everyone deserves a party, something so far removed from their lives that they can hopefully enjoy it. Since season two just started airing last week, she thinks a Game of Thrones viewing might just hit the spot.

First things first, On Tuesday morning she hunts down everyone at school and tells them to be at her place Saturday morning, everyone except for Liam—who has a family thing—says yes. Though after telling Malia Kira wonders if they should be exposing her to that sort of stuff. Then again she'd tried to invite a _fifteen_ year old, so maybe she shouldn't be so uptight.

Now, of course, that everyone's coming she's got to figure out just _how_ to feed them all. She solves some of the problem by sending out a mass text telling everyone to bring a dish, but werewolves eat a _lot_. There's always the old standby of pizza she knows, but that feels a bit...boring. She could probably get her parents help with sushi, _because that went so well the first time._  To be fair Scott's gotten better, and _Malia_ of all people asks her about it frequently. A few maki then, but nothing too adventurous. She makes a note to start rice when she gets home. Maybe she can convince her mom to make inari, Kira's mouth waters a little at the thought of it.

“Miss Yukimura!”

She starts, nearly falling out of her seat. A few classmates giggle and she flushes. “Sorry.”

Mr. Jakobson sighs. “I take it then, that you cannot tell me why Robert Burns' works may have been considered controversial?”

Shrinking into her shoulders she shakes her head. Jakobson sighs again. “How about you Greenberg, can you list some of the reasons Burns' works were considered controversial?” The conversation moving on around her Kira resists the urge to stick her tongue out at Jakobson—or do something even more rude. She'd like to see him try and deal with a man-eating chimera-monster-thing. In the face of that was 18th century writing all that important?

—

On the whole Jordan isn't all that interested in hanging out with teenagers, even ones who've gone through all the shit these ones had, for a few hours. Lydia had asked him to come along, promising that it would be entertaining to see Scott freak out—which makes Jordan wonder if Kira'd really thought that one through.

Jordan had baked about a million cookies—Peter had laughed throughout the asshole—and headed over to Kira's Saturday morning. Lydia's already there when he arrives and gives him a wide smile when he steps into the living room. It fills him with warmth and he returns the smile as he adds his cookies to the table near the door before making his way over to the loveseat. He feels uncomfortable when she pulls him down for a kiss, but she keeps it polite, the sort of greeting kiss you generally gave to your significant other. Which doesn't stop Stiles on the couch from making gagging noises. Lydia flips him off.

“Get a room?” Malia says from her spot next to Lydia. “Did I use that right?” She sounds so earnest that Jordan bites his tongue hard to keep from laughing at her.

“Uh, not really.” Danny pipes up from from Lydia's other side. Jordan's surprised he's there, from what Lydia's said he isn't that close to everyone else. He arches an eyebrow at Lydia. She returns it with one of her own.

“Have a seat Parrish,” Kira makes a gesture at the room as she stands up from her own seat. “And then we can begin!”

Her words prompt a general flurry of activity as people get food and drinks. In the end Jordan ends up in Lydia's spot, with her on his lap, flanked by Danny and Malia. Jordan finds himself frowning a little. "Shouldn't we wait for Derek, I thought he was part of your pack?"

From the confused looks he gets from that though Jordan's hastily revising that though.

Kira frowns at him. "Why would I have invited Derek." Next to her Scott's face scrunches up like he's trying to remember something.

"Please." Stiles gives a derisive snort. "Sourwolf _wishes_ he was part of the pack." Stiles' vehemence seems to take _everyone_ aback, leaving them with awkward silence.

Scott's the one who eventually breaks it. “Getting started Kira?”

“Oh.” She jumps up, nearly upending her plate—Scott's reflexes catch it—and snags a remote from the coffee table. Less then a minute later sweeping orchestral music is filling the room.

Out of the corner of his eye Jordan sees Danny pulling out his phone. Only for it to be snatched up by Lydia. “No phone,” she whispers.

Danny sticks his tongue out at her as he attempts to take his phone back. “Rude,” he hisses.

She rolls her eyes and shuts down Danny's phone. “You need to not think about it for a while.” Jordan has no idea what she's talking about, but it seems to him whatever 'it' is is the reason Danny got invited to this.

The room fills with various 'shhhs', and Jordan gives an amused huff. “Do I have to separate you two?” He asks quietly.

Lydia and Danny both give him disbelieving looks, but quiet down.

By the end of the first episode Scott looks like he's torn between blushing and sputtering, next to him Kira and Stiles are having a grand old time pulling an MST3K and adding to the popcorn pile at the bottom of the TV.

Halfway through the second Jordan's started to lose interest in watching mediocre politicking and buries his face in Lydia's hair, getting a noseful of her fruity conditioner and a faint something that might be the oleander scent Peter loves so much. “You know, this might be more interesting to watch at home.” He hates that they have to watch their words around the pack when it comes to talking about Peter.

Lydia's shoulders begin shaking with silent laughter. “No,” she whispers. “No, no, and no. We wouldn't be able to stop _plotting_.”

 _Oh stars_ , now he's laughing too. Because she's right. Peter's too much of a schemer to not have a running commentary on how he'd be doing this so much better than the characters involved. Jordan's sure _he_ could do better than some of these people.

The three of them together? Lydia would probably already be sitting on that iron throne.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Scott giving them strange looks, not that that's anything new. Ignoring them Jordan turns his full attention back to Lydia, lips tracing the shell of her ear through her hair. “As you say, _my lady_.” Normally he wouldn't use something so formal outside of the courts, but it feels right. If the shiver that passes through Lydia is any indication she very much liked it.

Their moment though gets interrupted by Scott. “What do you mean plotting?”

Lydia exhales in a pointedly controlled manner. “Don't eavesdrop Scott, it's rude,” she snaps. “I'm queen of the school, I plot all the time.” The fact that she's unashamed by it fill Jordan with an odd sense of pride.

“High school isn't exactly Westoros Lydia,” Stiles replies.

“I wouldn't've guessed,” Lydia replies dryly.

There's a worried frown on Malia's face, and Jordan wants to tell her everything's alright, except he's not sure if it is or not. So instead he nudges her knee with his own and when she turns to look at him and Lydia he gives her a little smile. Lydia notices and gives him a smile of her own, as well as one of the cookies he'd bake. Raising it up to his mouth to feed him. He goes with it wholeheartedly licking her fingers when he's finished to catch any stray crumbs.

“Please don't do that again,” Malia sounds not strained, but he can't quite think of what else to call it.

He flushes when he realizes what it is she's smelling and Danny sniggers.

On the other side of the room Stiles rolls his eyes. “You two are almost worse than Scott and Kira.” For his trouble Kira reaches over and Jordan sees a little bit of static electricity jump from her to him. “Hey, ow!”

“Don't be jealous Stiles,” she says sweetly.

Scott sighs, probably disappointed in both of them. “Can we just watch the show.”

Stiles shifts a little close to Scott. “Here I thought this was scarring you for life.”

  
—

Lydia's actually amazed that they've managed to watch another episode without another outburst like in the last one. Though even _she_ can feel the undercurrent of tension. The sound of the doorbell cuts through all the conversations and minor tension. Almost as one—vaguely creepy if you ask Lydia—everyone's focus turns to the general area of the front door. She's not exactly sure why she's bothering, for all she knows it could just be a delivery man.

Of course being without super senses herself she doesn't hear much in the way of anything over the TV, but on Jordan's other side Malia's brow is furrowed in concentration. Malia begins frowning, then Mr. Yukimura steps into the doorway. “Danny?” He doesn't sound nervous exactly, but he must find some part of this whole thing awkward. “There's a young man asking to see you.”

On Jordan's other side Danny starts, out of everything Mr. Yukimura could've said that isn't what any of them had probably expected. Before Danny can answer in any way there are rapid footsteps down the hall and Mr. Yukimura gets shouldered out of the way.

Inside the room, Ethan stops. His expression tense and wary. Lydia guesses he wasn't expecting so many people to be staring at him. Without even being ask Lydia takes her feet out of Danny's lap, Watching him, worried, as he gets up and faces Ethan. “You came back,” Danny's tone isn't quite flat, but it's close enough to make her wince. She knows Danny hasn't quite moved on from Ethan breaking up and leaving in the first place. On the other hand Danny cares deeply about his ex. Her heart goes out to him, this isn't the most ideal of situations. Nor would this be the sort of audience she'd want if she were in Danny's shoes—then again if she _were_ in Danny's shoes she's moved on enough that Jackson's return wouldn't be so devastating.

Defensively Ethan crosses his arms. “Yeah. I decided to stop running.”

Lydia lays a reassuring hand on Jordan's shoulder—hoping he understands that she doesn't want him to do anything, her other hand dips into her purse, then she gets up before either Danny or Ethan can say anything else. She very much does want them to talk things out, but not here. What with Scott being tense, meaning Malia's tense, and Kira's confused, and who knows about Stiles—actual Stiles looks _angry_.

She goes up to Danny and brushes her fingers against his wrist, not so subtly giving Danny her keys. “Why don't you two take my car and find somewhere more private where you can talk.” The look she levels at everyone else pretty much states that if any of them try to argue otherwise she's going to give them the dressing down of a lifetime. This is a chance for Danny to get happiness or closure, and she's not going to let anyone stand in the way of it. She's damn well certain about that, just as certain is the fact that she'll stand by Danny whichever choice he makes.

Danny looks at the keys in surprise for a second before nodding. “Thanks.” He manages a weak smile.

“Just make sure you return the car yeah?” She's only about half serious, Danny lives only a few houses from her it'd be hard for him to forget.

His lips twitch in a real smile at that. “I'll do my best. Not making any promises.”

Even Ethan smiles a little. “I'll have him back by eight if you're worried.”

She huffs and gives them both light shoves. “Go on you two, talk your shit out.”

They leave the room and she turns her attention to everyone else. Scott's standing, looking like he's about to wolf out. Crossing her arms she stares him down. “All of us are going to _stay here_.” A flare of anger fills her at the thought of anyone doing differently and it helps her direct the vocal glamour where it'll do the most 'good'. “We're going to give them the privacy they deserve, and if anyone suggests otherwise they're not going to like what happens.”

Kira, Scott, and Stiles gape at her, clearly taken aback by her implied threat, Malia's not even pay attention, eyes focused on the episode still playing in the background. Scott though sits back down and she copies him, leaning over to grab her's and Jordan's plate again. From the way Jordan's looking at her she can guess he might have a few things to say about what she just did, but can't because of present company. She offers him an Inari roll.

They can talk later.

—

Dates with Jordan are always an interesting experience. Today they'd driven up to the town of Trinidad and spend the day at the beach. It's April so their only other company as they'd walked barefoot in the sand were hardcore beachcombers.

Starting to feel hungry Peter starts guiding Jordan back towards the town. They chat about this and that as they eat—Peter making a note to come back to this place with Lydia—Jordan manages to catch the check before him and only rolls his eyes when Peter glowers at him. Once out on the boardwalk again Jordan takes his hand and starts leading him towards...an ice cream shop. “You just ate,” he groans.

Jordan laughs. “Oh come on, it's ice cream.”

“It's also sixty two out.” For Peter ice cream was strictly a treat to enjoy only when it got hot enough outside to make _him_ uncomfortable.

Like the endlessly mature fae he is Jordan sticks his tongue out. “See if I share any with you.” He tugs insistently at Peter's hand, and giving in Peter lets himself get dragged into the shop.

Where Jordan proceeds to try every flavor.

“You're incorrigible,” he growls softly against Jordan's neck, not caring that the man behind the counter looks a little uncomfortable with display.

He doesn't need to see Jordan's expression to know he's pouting. “How am I supposed to know which flavors I want if I don't try them all?”

Peter takes a step back. “Because it's ice cream.”

Jordan sighs, like putting up with Peter is some great task he's been burdened with and orders a double scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough and lavender. Only Jordan.

Peter manages to thrust his card at the server before Jordan can even finish pulling out his wallet. Werewolf reflexes have to be good for something after all. Greedily Jordan begins devouring his cone before they've even left the shop. “You know,” Peter teases. “I'm surprised you eat as much as you do.” For most of Peter's life he's been surrounded by people who eat a _lot_ of food, yet sometimes it seems like Jordan's in another class entirely.

Haughtily Jordan sticks his nose up. “Oh please, I need more energy to keep going than you'd think. The more sugar the better.” Peter can't quite tell of Jordan's joking or not.

“At this point I'm pretty sure if I bit you your blood would taste like sugar.”

A surprisingly nervous laugh leaves Jordan. “Pretty sure my blood has yet to turn into sap Peter.” He reaches out and actually _bops_ Peter on the nose, leaving behind a cold spot that Peter realizes too late is ice cream.

He crosses his eyes and narrows them. “You'd better get that.”

Jordan gives a devilish grin and ducks down a tiny bit—so very easy to forget that Jordan's actually taller than him—to lick Peter's nose. Peter huffs, but leans in and gives Jordan the briefest of kisses. “Move in with me.” Jordan blurts out when Peter pulls away, looking about as surprised as Peter feels at that suggestion. Jordan shifts his weight, his scent growing embarrassed. “I mean, if you want to.”

Did he? Peter'd gotten used to the loft, despite how impermanent it felt. Used to the lightly barbed conversations that seem to make up most of his and Derek's interactions. Did he really want to stay there until the lake house was finished?

Lydia'd thrown herself into that project with more gusto than even he thought she would, and from what plans she's shared with them, she's planning that they'll all live there. There's a pleasant bloom of warmth in Peter at that thought, the fact she's making a home for _all_ of them filling him with satisfaction. Easily he pushes aside the dread of what might happen after she discovers what he'd done what feels like ages ago now.

It also hadn't escaped his notice that the nights he _did_ spend at Jordan's were free of the nightmares he'd been having...no, that had recently _returned_. A sharp wind blows and he allows himself a shiver, mind skittering away from all to familiar thoughts of fire.  _Focus_ , did he or didn't he want to live with Jordan for who knew how long? The answer came much easier than he'd expected. “I don't see why not. I already have things there anyways. Moving everything else wouldn't be too much of a bother.” It would only be things like clothes and books anyways, the furniture he currently uses is technically Derek's.

Because he knows it will fluster Jordan, and Peter does so love a flustered Jordan, he steps up into his space. “I appreciate you offering.” It's an interesting challenge for Peter to try and cut out things like 'thank you' when talking with Jordan and Lydia, though Lydia doesn't seem as bothered by it as Jordan is, but he embraces it. Not giving Jordan a chance to answer he leans in and kisses the man, not caring that Jordan will complain if he drops his ice cream or that they're out in the open where anyone can see them. Let them stare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: A giant leap forward, but about a million steps back.  
> -  
> Ten no Hinoken = sword of heavenly fire.
> 
> Most of the lightning you see in storms is considered negative lightning, and while it's dangerous it doesn't necessarily kill. Positive lightning on the other hand (those ones usually called 'bolts out of the blue') carries about six to ten times the amount of charge and voltage; thanks to the fact that they form at the tops of clouds instead of the bottoms, so they've got more time to gather power.
> 
> They way Kira's picturing the lightning is correct too, if you [watch high speed of strikes](https://youtu.be/W9xzU0xjlhE?t=1m38s) you can actually see the 'streamers' (the more 'solid'/paler looking lightning).
> 
> Autopsies are only preformed on humans, anything else is a biopsy.
> 
> Within the bounds of physics Peter's completely correct, you can't push cold 'in', since cold is the _removal_ of energy, and pushing energy in gets to the opposite result.
> 
> A Texas king (sometimes also called a Super/Grand king) is 80x98 in (203x249cm) here in the US.
> 
> Inari sushi is sushi rice wrapped in Aburaage tofu (basically pre-fried tofu), it's delicious. Maki are the sushi rolls most of you are probably familiar with: seaweed wrapped around rice and some other foodstuffs.
> 
> Lavender ice cream is also delicious and I highly recommend you try some if you have the chance.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter basically marks the midpoint of the story (though hopefully it won't take me 240 pages and 161,000 words to finish) and it's strange to think of how this labor of love of mine's actually getting towards the end(ish).

For Lydia the next two months pass by in a sort of wonderful blur. School, dates, sex, and best of all not a single major supernatural event worth noting. The only things that could be considered bad were her nightmares—she's lucky if one night in three nets her a good nights sleep—and depending how you looked at it her relationship with the pack.

It hadn't escaped her notice at all—though Malia telling her helped—that the pack would more often than not meet without her. Making her personally less inclined to have anything to do with them. Rinse, repeat ad nauseam. It's enough to make her wonder why she's even bothering to hide her relationship with Peter anymore. Case in point: the lake house. She and Jordan had gone on a few progress tours now that they'd moved on past framing and onto more of the 'cosmetic' additions, and both of them had wished that Peter could have been able to come along; they'd both sent a massive amounts of texts and photos, but it wasn't the same.

 _Soon_ , Lydia promises herself. Once she's graduated, she won't insist on everything being so secretive. Summer means she won't have to interact with her 'pack' unless she wants to, and after that she's got MIT. Where people don't know her, or Peter. How strange will that feel? The idea that their relationship, and her, will be judged for completely different reasons than Peter biting Scott and going on a revenge quest. The thought almost feels alien.

She's finishing up the last econ essay she'll ever write, when she realizes that the three of them haven't ]talked about what Peter and Jordan would do while she went to collage. Would they come with her? Stay here?

If she had her way they'd be coming with her, but she's not going to force that on them, _ever_. If they did come, what would they do for living arrangement? Before she'd embarked on this relationship she'd been planning on living on campus. Not exactly a viable option for herself and two men who probably wouldn't be going to school as well.

Tapping her fingers contemplatively against her keyboard she thinks on that for a few minutes before picking up her phone and sending them both a text about needing to talk next time they were together, a bit excessive since one would tell the other. Part of her is a little jealous that they're living together. But that would all change soon.

—

Despite her text a few days ago Lydia seems more than content to just chat idly with him and Jordan, Peter muses. He doesn't doubt that eventually they'll talk about whatever's on Lydia's mind. Peter still entertains thoughts of what it might be. Something about their relationship? Her finally announcing that she's leaving McCall's ridiculous pack? Did she know about his nightmares? Those weren't as numerous as they'd been before he moved in with Jordan.

Since he cooked dinner Lydia and Jordan do clean up, though he lurks in the kitchen. The conversation and banter flows between them, and it's a little breathtaking how easy this relationship is sometimes. Lydia practically glows as she and Jordan get into an impromptu splash fight—Peter steps well out of the way of any stray water—and it's not hard to notice the way Jordan's plants shift and grow from his influence.

Eventually Jordan admits defeat and they finish the rest of the dishes in companionable silence, drying off as best they can when they're done. Kitchen clean they adjourn to the living room, which even with what few things Peter added to it still feels bare. They settle in together on the couch, Lydia and Jordan sitting while his torso is draped across both of them, head comfortably nestled in Jordan's lap, the silence from the kitchen continuing until Lydia shifts her legs underneath him and clears her throat. Jordan and him focus on her completely.

“I, wanted to talk about what's going to happen to us at the end of August.” Something in Peter writhes, of _course_ there's an end date to all of this, bitterness filling him. “Because I'm still planning on going to MIT when the fall quarter starts up, and I have no idea what you two want to do.” She looks away and Peter smells worry coming off her in torrents.

Her actual words are better than the ones he'd thought she'd say. No talk about breaking up, just her telling them her plans. Jordan runs a hand through Peter's hair once, “I'd go with you if that's what you want.”

“You two are much more interesting than anything else here. I'd be more than happy to move.” Despite all the effort Lydia's been putting into the lake house Peter almost prefers this more. There's still too many bad memories tainting Beacon Hills for him.

Lydia relaxes, leaning into Jordan. “I'd really like that. I want you both to come, but I didn't want it to be because that's what I wanted.” A tiny smile quirks her lips. “Though I don't think apartment hunting is going to be all that fun.”

Jordan leans into Lydia a little, pushing her back towards her original position. “Why would we apartment hunt? The Winter Court has a few properties in that area we can stay in.”

“Really?” Lydia perks up a little, Peter himself makes a noise of vague interest.

Nodding Jordan continues. “Your mother owns properties in every major city in the world, and anyone in the court can rent them out for as long as they'd like if they wish to reside outside the Mound.” He shrugs as if it's nothing. “If it doesn't bother you we can add the lake house to the list, let others live there when we don't.”

One of Lydia's hands comes up to rest itself on Peter's stomach, her thumb starting to rub tiny circles into the fabric of his shirt. “Maybe. Tell me more about the ones in Cambridge.”

—

Derek awakes feeling the need to rend and tear and _kill_ , closing his eyes he buries his face in his hands and _breathes_. No new or unexpected scents fill the loft, and some of the tension in his shoulders leaves.

He could probably go upstairs and curl up next to Peter...but then he remembers Peter moved out. Derek knows that Peter's bed would still smell like his uncle even after two months but it's not just the comfort of scent he's looking for. It's also a warm body to curl against, a reminder there are still people who care about him, at least a little.

A memory of him at ten prowls through his mind: waking up from a nightmare and not wanting to be alone he'd gone to uncle Peter's room. Being too old to bother his parents, Laura being away at a friend's house, his great-aunts somewhere in Washington, his great-uncle still doing his monthly border check, and well, you never bothered grandma and grandpa with that sort of thing. He had woken Peter up, soon after Derek had turned six it'd been made _very_ clear to him that you didn't just creep into Peter's bed without waking him up. Then curled up around his torso, Peter himself wrapping around Derek like a vine. Peter never asked about the nightmares like mom would have, but he always told a story. Derek thinks that time it had been a firebird story—it had always amazed Derek then that his uncle knew so many fairy tales, legends, and myths.

A feeling Derek would rather not name rises up. He snarls, he will _not_ succumb to self pity, and climbs out of bed, a run will do him just as much good as family right now.

Once he's parked in the main preserve lot he climbs out and, making sure he really is alone—despite the 'no admittance after sundown' sign Derek knows full well teenagers sometimes wander the woods—shifts into his wolf-form. Even though it's been _months_ since it first happened it still shocks him when the shift ends. This had always been something that was _mom's_ and to be able to do it himself when not even Scott could? Sometimes he didn't feel like he's worthy.

He breathes in deep through a wolf's nose, picking out even more scents than his human-form could, a badger passed this way recently going south towards the road, a coyote marked territory over there, and—the wind blows straight in his face—there were deer about a half a mile north northwest.

Despite the drive that had taken him when he woke he goes east and just lets himself fall into a ground eating lope. As he pounds through the preserve he finds the stress start to melt away, and a part of him sags in relief. Soon he's just running to run, to feel the wind rustle his fur, to see and hear. He breaks through the tree line into a back yard, and feeling like he's suddenly appeared in a cartoon, skids to a stop. For the next few moments he sits there, tongue out as he pants and tries to get his bearings. A melange of scents assaults his nose: gunpowder—something in him twitches uncomfortably, oil, a bare tinge of alcohol, the scents of the preserve, and a spicy sage scent that has him realizing this is Malia's house.

It's been a few weeks since he last saw her, she's had school and Scott appears uninterested in inviting Derek to join the pack. Which _hurts_ , Scott knows Derek, knows how Derek could help, but the boy seems hellbent on distancing himself from Derek since Kate's death.

Derek shakes off the sadness and pain as best he can and easily transforms back into his human form. Just as easily he leaps onto the overhang that gives him access to some of the second floor windows. If this had been Scott or Stiles' house he'd know exactly which window to go to to reach their bedrooms—Stiles would probably call that creepy—but he's never been to the Tate house.

He peers in what windows don't have their curtains closed. Bathroom, what might be an office, Tate's room, and the last window shows a completely empty room. With a sigh he jumps back to the ground, rising easily from the crouch he lands in and starts waking around the house. On the front side of the house he finds what he's looking for: an open window from which wafts Malia's scent.

Lucky him the front porch also has an easily accessible overhang. He creeps over to Malia's window and peers in. She looks like she's curled up asleep, blankets tangled up around her in a cocoon. He's halfway through the window without even realizing it and he freezes, he has no idea if Malia would even want him here, and no matter how much he'd like to just curl up next to her he can't. Retreating back to the other side of the sill he reaches out and knocks on it, keeping an ear out for any signs of Tate waking up. Malia rolls over, but doesn't otherwise wake. With a bemused sigh Derek knocks again, louder.

Malia awakes with a start, eyes flaring blue as she becomes upright in a flash. They dart around as she blearily hunts for the sound, finally her eyes land on him and she blinks. “What are you doing?” A second later: “you're naked.”

He blushes. Maybe he should have dragged his clothes along, but who knows how beaten up they would have gotten. Not exactly like he can change that, so he shifts his legs to give himself a bit more modesty—did Malia really care though? “I, uh, kind of just ended up here.” It makes sense if he thinks like a wolf; he wanted family, Cora was too far away and his wolf half still smarted from the fact that Peter _left_ , ergo Malia.

She shrugs. “Then why'd you wake me?”

“I wanted to come in without scaring the shit out of you and getting attacked.” It's only polite after all.

Which gets him a nod, and she actually pats an empty sport of bed. “Get here then.”

He gets, though once he's on the bed he feels a little awkward. While overall he's no stranger to being naked around other werewolves, those were wolves he'd been comfortable with, ones he'd spent his whole life around. Malia, for all that she's family, is a relative stranger. As if sensing his dilemma she rolls her eyes and pulls up her comforter up. “Do you want to snuggle or not?”

Either she's better now at catching non-verbal cues or scents, or she's just assuming that cuddling is par for the course. Regardless he shimmies under the comforter, there's enough blankets between them that things shouldn't get too uncomfortable on his end, and presses his side against hers. It's almost frightening how just that is enough to make his wolf relax. It hadn't been quite this way with Braeden the times she'd spent the night. His human half may have trusted her implicitly but his wolf half had been wary of the strange predator in his bed.

“Mmmm, you're warm.” Malia closes her eyes and smiles, pressing herself more against him.

He snorts softly. “Glad I could help.”

They're quiet for a good long while, long enough that Derek starts drifting back into sleep. In fact he thinks Malia is asleep herself until she speaks out of the blue. “Do you think they would have liked me?”

At first he doesn't quite understand her question, the potential 'they' a group his half-asleep mind can't comprehend. So he doesn't answer as quickly as he'd like; but at least he wakes up enough to make a good guess that she's asking about his family. The realization sets him down a whole path of 'what ifs'? What if his mom hadn't take Peter's memories? Derek still doesn't understand _why_ she did it in the first place, the mom he remembers wasn't like that. What would it have been like to have Malia as a cousin? Would she and Cora have gotten along? Or were they too similar?

“I don't know Malia,” that's the honest truth. “I think Laura would've been there for your as best she could.” Though that was also part of the reason Derek thinks things between him and his sister were as...tense as they were. Laura had almost been pathologically afraid to press him for any sort of answers about what happened in the fire, and Derek had been to afraid to tell her without prompting. They'd danced around the subject for six years, without any sort of closure.

Malia rolls over so she's on her side, facing him. “Why'd you go running tonight?” Malia hardly seems bothered by the fact this question is completely unrelated to the last one from her perspective.

“I had a nightmare, bad dreams,” he clarifies when confusion flickers over her face.

She makes a face. “Is that like when I think I'm still in Eichen House, or when the Nogitsune doesn't stop that crazy guy from drilling holes in my head.” She scoots closer, now nearly pressed against him. She's doing it out of comfort and Derek's not going to stop her.

In return Derek slings an arm over her, thumb starting to rub circles in her shoulders; scooting down a little he noses at her hair. He exhales quietly, then asks. “Do you want to hear a story?”

He can see Malia's brow furrow in a frown. “A story about what?”

He smiles. “Well how about I tell you and you can find out.”

When she nods his smile gets a little softer. “Once upon a time...”

—

After school ends Lydia heads over to the sheriff's office. She and Jordan need to make plans. She knows Peter doesn't like surprises, but this isn't _really_ a surprise, just a secret; for now. Despite her intention to go straight to the department, she finds herself making a detour to Lucy's and buying a dozen doughnuts. If Jordan didn't eat them all the rest of the department would probably thank her. Since she might as well go whole hog, she stops at Beacon Brewers and gets a to-go pot of coffee and a sixteen ounce earl gray.

Thus armed she finally does make it to the station. Her arms full she backs in through the station doors. One of the female deputies—Doyle she thinks—eyes her for a second. Lydia gives her a brilliant smile. “I'm here to see Jordan.” And to sweeten the pot: “you can have one the doughnuts if you let me through.” She knows it's cliché to have the whole cops and doughnuts thing, but really, everyone likes doughnuts in one from or another.

Doyle lets her in, and she wonders if should she tell the sheriff how easily bribed his deputies are.

Weaving her way through the desks of the bullpen Lydia's pleased to note that Jordan's actually at his desk. She sets the box down right on his hands and keyboard. “Peter's birthday is next weekend,” she tells him by way of greeting.

Giving him time to process that she steals the chair from the empty desk next door and sits down, placing the coffee between herself and Jordan. “I take it that you want us to plan something then?” He sounds amused.

She gives him a wide smile. “That would be it.” From her purse she produces a pen and paper, sure she could just type it all out on her phone, but she's a faster note-taker than phone-typer. “Suggestions and ideas are welcome.”

He leans back in his chair a bit, moving the doughnut box off his hands and opening it. “Somewhere out of town.”

Taking a sip from her own cup she nods. “Somewhere we haven't been to yet,” she amends. All of the towns within half an hour of Beacon Hills are nice, but well, it'd be nice to do something more special than that.

“How far are we willing to go?” Jordan at least waits until he's finished talking to stuff about half a doughnut in his mouth.

She taps the pen against the pad as thinks. “Probably no further south than the Bay area. No further north than the Oregon border. As far east as Shasta.” She'd rather not be stuck in a car for longer than five or six hours. She's sure Jordan feels the same.

He nods and swallows. “If it's next weekend then we'd probably be leaving after you graduate. A long weekend?”

“More like just shifting the weekend over. Head down Saturday afternoon, head home late afternoon Tuesday.” She'd like at least a few days breathing space before heading over to Montana to get to the Winter Court for the solstice.

Jordan opens the coffee carafe and takes a sniff. “Sounds about right. So where? Sacramento? San Francisco? Ashland? Shasta?” He pulls a mug from one of the desk drawers and pours.

“Not enough time to try and get a place at Shasta, they're probably all booked up for the summer already.” She shrugs. “Sacramento's nice, but Peter might enjoy San Francisco more.” Not that Sacramento didn't have it's fair share of museums and the like. There's just something about San Francisco.

He gives a pleased sigh as he drinks his coffee and Lydia feels a warm flush fill her. “Works for me. Any places in particular? Or do we just want to wing it and wander?”

She thinks about that for a minute or two; she knows Peter likes history, and enjoys art. But not what _era_ of history, or what _kind_ of art. Maybe she should invite him to come along when she goes to look at prints to hang up on the walls. “I think for now leave it open, but you should pull up restaurants so we can make reservations for dinners.” On that front she at least knows Peter well enough to know where he'd like to eat.

Finishing off his second doughnut Jordan nods. “Alright.” He licks his fingers clean, which sends a wonderful flash of heat through her, then dries them on one of the paper napkins. Bringing up a web browser on his computer they start searching.

—

Jordan awakes with a start, for a second he has no idea what woke him and feels disoriented, but then the sheets get tugged to the left and a pitiful moan sounds and Jordan realizes Peter's having another nightmare. They happen often enough now that Jordan's really starting to worry.

He's tried to encourage Peter to talk about, but every time he gets shut down. Sitting up he twists slightly towards Peter and rests a hand on his shoulder, “Peter. Wake up.” The man's suffered enough that nightmares are just cruel.

Sweat starts to bead on Peter's brow and he shifts restlessly again, underneath his eyelids Jordan can see his eyes moving rapidly. “ _No, Talia._ ”

Deciding there's no good way to be nice about it Jordan reaches out with both hands and gives Peter a hard shove. “Peter!”

Peter's eyes fly open, and for Jordan's troubles he gets tossed across the room. _Fuck_ , he grits his teeth as he hits the floor. At least he didn't break anything. Silence, except for Peter's heavy breathing, reigns in the room for the next few minutes. "Fuck, Jordan?” Peter's voice is a little hoarse, but otherwise he sounds alright. Now that Peter seems back to himself Jordan moves to sit upright.

“I'm alright.” Tilting his head up a little he's pleased to see he didn't even dent the drywall. Had he been human he'd probably be in some pain at the moment. “What about you?”

Sitting upright Peter runs his hands through his hair. “I'll be fine.”

Which right now isn't good enough for Jordan. Standing up he walks back over to the bed and climbs back in, pressing himself right up against Peter's back. “You were having a nightmare,” he accuses. Peter tries to shrug him off, literally, but Jordan won't budge. To prove his point he wraps his arms around Peter's chest. “Talk to me.” Did Peter think Jordan's just going to stand by while he suffers?

Cuddled up like this it's not hard to miss the way Peter curls up into himself a little. “It's nothing new, just the fire.”

Jordan lets his grip tighten, back when he and Haigh had found the de-aged Derek at the Hale house he may or may not have read the attached file on Derek's record about the fire that killed most of the Hale family; more recently he also may or may not have slightly abused police privileges and read Peter's medical file. Turning his head he rubs his cheek against Peter's shoulder, stopping briefly to kiss a spot in the middle. The moment Peter finally relaxes against him, something inside Jordan also relaxes.

Before he can even think about it, he's pinned to the bed, Peter looming above him a little. Peter dips his head down and nuzzles against Jordan's neck, barely there stubble scratching just right. “Why Jordan were you scent marking me?”

He might have been, but that's not going to distract him. “Probably. You're kind of avoiding the subject.”

In response Peter drops onto him, forcing him to support all of his weight. Jordan does easily “Are you really going to press?”

“If you want me to not ask, tell me.” He won't like it but he'll respect Peter's wishes. It's only fair. “I think you should talk about it.”

Peter exhales noisily through his teeth. Jordan's more that willing to wait him out one way or the other. Turning his head Peter buries his face in Jordan's neck and hair, nose ending up behind his ear. “I guess you know what it's like to be burned alive don't you?” _Vividly_ , but Jordan bites his tongue, speaking might stop Peter.

“Knowing you're trapped and there's no escape.” Slowly Jordan wraps an arm around Peter. “You were alone."

“I might have hated Talia, but it still hurts to remember the way she screamed, with Sam already dead clutched in her arms. The way my aunt futilely tried to protect her girlfriend...” Peter shudders as he drifts off.

Jordan's hugging him fully now, a hand smoothing up and down Peter's back; starting to hum some sort of nonsense tune.

Against him Peter sighs, not relaxing completely, but more than before.

—

Jordan watches chest bursting with pride as Lydia gives her valedictorian speech. She looks so confident on that stage, it's amazing. There's no glamour in her voice, but everyone is hanging on to her every word. Somehow she even manages to make the shapeless red gown look good. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the rest of the pack a few rows back, just as entranced as the the rest of the gym—Jordan himself may or may not have glamoured his way into a front row seat.

As she finishes Jordan's heart swells, even without realizing it she's stepping into her role as princess and filling it better than anyone could hope. It's enough to make him think even her mother is proud. The queen isn't here in person, but Jordan can just barely feel her magic—some variation on the mirror spell he would guess. He joins in as everyone stands and cheers. Putting his fingers in his mouth he whistles, loud and sharp. Loud enough that Lydia actually hears him, her head turning a little before landing on him. He can't see her features very well, but he knows she's smiling as she waves at him. He waves back as he sits, carefully so he does not crush the flowers he and Peter bought her.

Then again when they bought them this morning he'd pumped them full of enough magic he might have accidentally preserved them. Though as far as bouquets to preserve go, one of congratulation from your lovers isn't a bad one to start with.

Even though this is her graduation he still pulls out a book when they start calling names, it will take them a while to get to the 'M's and he can do something that interests him while he waits. The book gets stowed away though when they reach the 'M's and he's up with the rest of the pack and her mother cheering when her name is called and she walks back up on the stage. After that the rest of the ceremony goes by in a bit of a blur and before he knows it everyone is tossing their mortarboards, along with all sorts of inflatable things they managed to sneak in, and there's even more cheering.

He can see Lydia, her gown and cords already off and hanging over an arm, perfect as always in a little black dress, the holly hairpins he got her as well as the gold in her raven triskele necklace glinting in the sunlight. He can see the pack begin to fight their way down, but Lydia doesn't seem to care about them. He stands just in time to catch her in an embrace, a little surprised when she laces her fingers in his hair to pull him down for a kiss. Not that he'll complain, especially when she kisses him with all she has, he eagerly reciprocates and when they finally break apart she's red cheeked and panting a little.

Still she smiles. “Hi.”

He can't help but smile in return. “Hello.” Setting her down he reaches behind him and grabs the flowers. “These are for you.” The ' _from the both of us_ ' is implied enough that she gets it. After all Peter coming here would have most likely ended poorly for someone and, well, Peter could stand to not go.

“Oh they're lovely.” She brings them up to her face an inhales. “They smell good too, what do they mean?”

Lydia loves her languages, even pointless ones based on flowers. “The peach roses are congratulations, the sage is for esteem, and the laurel for glory.” He finds himself grinning. “I nearly bought you the traditional crown of them but...” The arrival of the pack causes him to drift off, Lydia still laughs. To make sure they don't get separated he wraps an arm around her waist, her sidelong look is coy as she slides her own free arm around his waist, her hand briefly trying to slip into his slacks.

She accepts the pack's hugs, but only pulls herself away from him to reciprocate Malia's, Mason's, Danny's and Ethan's. As clear a sign as any to Jordan who she really cares about. Not that it surprises him any that the rest of the group isn't as welcome as those four. She smiles brightly at all of them. “You're all coming to the party right?”

Anticipation builds in Jordan, because after the party they're leaving, a weekend away from everything. There's a chorus of 'yes'. Natalie Martin finally makes her way to them and smiling brightly envelops Lydia in a hug, effectively pulling her away from Jordan. He tries not to feel too jealous of that, the woman who raised Lydia deserves to congratulate her. Apparently he doesn't succeed considering how Ethan starts sniggering. Danny's nice enough to smack Ethan on Jordan's behalf though.

Jordan's uncertain about Ethan, but Lydia seems to like him well enough. A few weeks ago they'd even gone on a double date together. Which had been an unusual experience from the get go for Jordan. On the other hand he'd enjoyed himself more than he'd thought he would; even if his poor bowling skills were probably what lost him and Lydia the win, she'd teased him mercilessly about it. He'd gotten her back later. “Jordan!” With a start he becomes aware of Lydia calling to him, as well as the fact he's standing alone now. “Come on, we're leaving.” She turns and starts walking away.

He catches up easily enough, and offers her his arm when he reaches her. Even thought she rolls her eyes her smile is fond and she takes his arm. “You ready for this weekend?”

She squeezes his arm, “I've been ready since we finished planning it. I'm just glad the surprise went over well.”

Peter _had_ been surprisingly affectionate the other night when they'd finally told him. After Lydia had gone home? Well, by the time Peter had finished with him he'd felt as limp as an under watered plant.

Lydia's head bumps his shoulder. “I'll see you there.” Oh, they'd reached her mom's car already.

Hunching down he gives her a kiss. “Like I'd miss it.” In the grand scheme of things graduating high school might not be that big of a deal, but it's still a milestone for Lydia. Hands tucked into his pockets his jogs towards his own car.

—

Stiles notices right away that Lydia's wearing the necklace Derek gave her for her birthday. Something about it niggles at him, like there's a significance to it that he should know but doesn't quite. Which is probably his least favorite sensation of all time. It darkens the celebratory atmosphere for him.

Making it even worse is the fact that he's kind of really angry at Lydia for graduating. She's going to be _leaving_ them in a few months, as if there's nothing at all for her here. He gives a shake of his head; no, it's not anger, it's _bitterness._ It feels like she's just tossing away everything that's happened here, the bonds they've made, for something completely new.

Scott and Kira splash into the pool, seemingly oblivious to what this all means. Parrish returns to Lydia's side, cup of punch in hand. She takes it from him and smiles, the sort of smile Stiles has ever only seen on women in romance movies, before returning her attention to Danny and Ethan.

Adding to the bitterness is the fact that Stiles isn't the one who put that smile on her face, he should be. His ten year plan had been going _perfectly_ , and then she had to go and fall for a different guy. They might not know what Parrish is—and it hasn't escaped his notice that Lydia and Parrish don't seem all that inclined to find out—but Stiles' willing to bet that he wouldn't be able to come back from say, taking a bath in acid. The chair he's in shakes, and he glances left to see Malia's now perched on the arm; she jabs him in the shoulder. “You smell funny.”

Does he? Makes sense though, he can't remember being this angry in a long time. “Just thinking.”

Malia snorts, clearly not believing him. “About what?”

He slumps back into the chair, now staring at the sky, a few fluffy clouds drifting through his field of vision. “Lydia's necklace.”

Even though he's not looking at her he knows she's wrinkling her nose. “The raven one? Why?”

“Something about it bugs me.” Stretching out his hand he yanks a clump of grass out of the lawn and starts ripping it apart. From his new position he can see Malia much more clearly than before.

Her face is scrunched up in confusion, a look he used to consider adorable. “I don't see why. I mean I remember ravens always hanging around when I killed stuff, so they could get at the stuff I didn't eat.” It takes a second for him to realize she's talking about when she was a coyote. “So it fits her. Do you think Derek likes her?” A thoughtful look crosses Malia's face at her own words, though she quickly shakes her head, as if disabusing herself of whatever thought she'd just had.

Though her question is a valid one. However he highly doubted Derek would crush after Lydia if she was with someone else already— _no that's your job_ he shakes off the alien thought—let alone buy her potentially expensive jewelry. He shakes his head. “No, I don't think it's that at all.”

Malia shrugs, then for some reason takes the dirt clod still in his hands out of them and pushes it back into the ground. “That makes more sense, especially since he said he was thinking about getting me something similar for my own birthday.”

He does a double take. “What?” Some of the dots start connecting.

“He said I deserved to have one, since we were family.”

A laughing shout calls both their attentions back to the pool, where Mason's just broken the surface, sputtering. Liam paddles next to him an innocent look on his face.  _T_ _hose two_ , though he's happy most of the pack's getting along better. Seems his pack bonding ideas _have_ been working. There's a general cry from those in the pool for the rest of their peers to join them; off to the side of the patio his dad and Mrs. McCall give amused, indulgent looks, towards the teens. Laughing, Lydia shakes her head. “I'll pass, thanks.”

Next to him though Malia grins, stands, and shucks off her clothes. Revealing the sort of bikini that men would follow to their doom. “Cannonball!” She howls, throwing herself wholeheartedly into the water. The ensuing splash nearly hitting those close to the pool. Stiles barely notices, though it's hard to miss Lydia's surprised shriek.  _'_ _Since we were family.'_   What did that have to do with jewelry? Looking up he sees Lydia turning his way, giving him a good look at the necklace in question. One raven on top, two on the bottom making a triangle, their legs interlocked in a triangle... _no_ , he realizes with a start, _not a triangle, a_ triskele.

The Hale family symbol, but why give it to Lydia?

She's dating Parrish, so for what reason did she deserve to wear a triskele? The only other Hale Lydia interacts with on a daily basis is Malia, but Malia doesn't understand the significance of that symbol. The way Derek clings to it like a lifeline, the only thing connecting him to his family. Stiles isn't sure if it's sweet or sad. Stiles hadn't seen Peter since, Kate. He frowns at that, making a mental note to pull Scott aside later and mention it. Maybe the both of them could confront Derek about that. Peter being unsupervised for long periods of time makes Stiles jumpy. His brain catches at that though, like running your hand over a piece of wood and catching a splinter. He looks back at Lydia, who's smiling indulgently at Ethan. Stiles wishes he could borrow Scott's super hearing for, like, five minutes, just to listen in.

Peter had attacked Lydia, what felt like ages ago. Stiles remembers all too well how Peter had talked about Lydia after it, how smug he had sounded when he'd said Lydia would be incredibly powerful. He vaguely recalls Peter said other things as well, though they've blurred together now, but Stiles remembers the words were almost proprietary. It's enough to make him grind his teeth. Lydia had never talked about any of her encounters with Peter following his resurrection. Stiles remembers how _proud_ Peter had looked when they'd been phone conferencing one of Kate's kills. Scott had told him how Peter had pulled Lydia to the side after Scott and her had split him and the Nogitsune.

It's suspicious is what it is. Why didn't Lydia talk to them about Peter? Agree with them once and for all that Peter was an asshole and a bastard of the highest order, and should be shunned. If Stiles was her he would.

 _Because, because_ , it niggles at his brain, just out of reach. Laughter draws his attention. Lydia and Parrish are still seemingly attached at the hip, while the two of them chat with his dad and Scott's mom. Parrish says something and in response Lydia tilts her head and arches her eyebrow, both in a manner Stiles has seen countless times.

On Peter.

Some part of his mind starts laughing, _oh, there's a curveball. I'll bet she's been sleeping with him this whole time, telling him_ our _secrets, helping him break us down, tear us apart. Poor, poor, deputy, stuck playing the patsy._ _Do you think he even knows it?_

Barring the disgusting mental image that train of thought brings with it, Stiles is shocked. It all makes sense: Derek gave her a triskele because of her relationship with Peter, she's been distant and snappish because Peter knew that would be the best way to break up the pack. Hell, Stiles is willing to bet his spot on the lacrosse team that Peter was the one who guided the manticore.

Rage bubbles up in him all too easily.

 _I know now you monster, and_ we're _going to stop you._ He even thinks he might go behind Scott's back and 'deal' with Peter permanently if that's what it comes too. First, he needs to tell Scott. His Alpha needs to know what's going on.

*

As he leaves Lydia's party, thoughts swirling black, he snags Scott. “You're coming back with me dude, _CoD_ night.”

“Hey, I wasn't done with him,” Kira pouts.

Stiles sticks his tongue out. “Tough luck miss lightning, you can have him tomorrow. We need some bestie time.”

Scott looks at both of them, exasperated. “Clearly I don't get a say in this.”

“Dude,” Stiles whispers at a level he's sure Kira won't be able to hear. “You and I need to have an important chat about something.”

Before Scott can respond Lydia breezes past them, still in her LBD and dragging a suitcase behind her. Parrish soon follows. Both he and Scott stare at them. “Where're you going?” Scott calls out.

Lydia turns. “Not that it's any of your business Scott, but away for a long weekend.” Her grin has far too much meaning for Stiles' liking. “It's a present.”

Stiles tugs Scott's attention back to him. “Aboutyay ydialay,” Stiles hisses.

Brow furrowing Scott nods. “I think I understood that, you know I suck at Pig Latin.” Stiles can't even right now.

Lydia and Parrish call out goodbyes and wave to everyone in sight; they get a chorus of 'goodbye's and 'have fun's in return. And like that they're gone.

“Come on.” Stiles tugs Scott to his Jeep and ten minutes—and five broken traffic laws—later they're at his house. In the living room Stiles starts up his 360 and they arrange the couch to their liking. They should be alone here for a while, unless something supernatural pops up, dad was on a swing shift today and the rest of the pack have their own things. Six PvP rounds later Stiles finally starts talking about Lydia and Peter and what he thinks he's figured out so far.

“Are you sure?” Scott has a right to be worried, Stiles feels the same.

He nods. “Pretty damn sure Scott. It all adds up. She's been hanging out with us less and less, closing herself off. Hell Derek got her a _triskele_ Scott, from what I've read about werewolves and family symbols they don't jut hand them out to anyone. She threatened _all_ of us just last week!”

Scott looks torn. “She did it to protect Danny, you know the two of them have been friend since he moved in.”

Stiles does know, but he also knows that Ethan'll be bad news one of these days. “He's made it pretty damn clear he doesn't want any of _our_ protection.” If he had Danny would have come to them, told them that he _knew_ , knew from the beginning. It sets off a hot spark in Stiles. “You're okay with someone who's supposed to be part of our pack threatening us over someone who _isn't_ pack?”

Eyes flaring red Scott grits his teeth. “I don't know Stiles,” Scott sounds frustrated. “I'm not going to force her to not hang out with Danny anymore.” Of course not, because Scott didn't want to force anyone to do anything.

“All I'm saying is that ever since Peter attacked her on the lacrosse field she hasn't quite been herself. We _still_ don't know exactly what he did to her.”

Closing his eyes Scott takes a deep breath. “Because we didn't want to push her, just like none of us push you.”

Which Stiles totally appreciates, it fills him with warmth to just think about it, but it's been over a year and either Lydia's moved well past it or she's not the person he thought she was. “Yeah, well, for all we know Peter's doing something to her to _make_ her be in a relationship with him. Clearly he's done something to Parrish too, otherwise why would everyone believe he and Lydia are dating.” Even her mom thought it, saying she'd gone down to San Francisco with that 'nice young man' when he'd asked.

Scott's face scrunches up. “Why would Peter want to date Lydia. Forced or not?”

“Because it's _Lydia_ Scott, does he really need another reason?” Just the thought of it makes his insides squirm, they should have made Derek _burn_ Peter's body, no one could revive themselves from ashes. “We need to confront her about it, make her understand that we know and can help her get away.” How broken was Lydia that she didn't understand that they'd help her with _anything_ , she just needed to _tell_ them?

Meeting Stiles' gaze Scott nods. “I'll have Kira call her and invite her over to the lake. Tell her it'll be just us, no adults.”

That's the best thing about Scott, Stiles knows, that once he realizes something is wrong he won't stop trying to make it right. It's what makes him the right Alpha for them. Reaching over he slaps Scott on the back. “We'll save her, kick Peter's ass, and be awesome doing it.”

Scott grins, and Stiles returns it. Maybe his ten year plan isn't completely ruined after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: well, things fall apart.
> 
> dun, dun, dun!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this fic _did _pop up on etree I, as of right now, have no intentions of making this 'members only' if it comes to that I'll let you know (and if you're not a member I do also post this on FF.net and it will still be up for reading there).__

Despite the fact that they're now back in Beacon Hills Lydia feels rejuvenated as she hauls her luggage up to and inside the front door. “I'm home!” She calls out, even thought there's about a fifty-fifty chance Natalie isn't home.

Footsteps reach her ears though and a few seconds later mom steps into view from the kitchen. “Welcome back,” she smiles. “How was San Francisco? You and Jordan seem very serious.”

A sliver of her is annoyed by her Natalie's fishing, even if she does mean well. “It was great. We had a lot of fun.” Trips to the various museums, they'd gone to the beach once, some of the best food she'd ever tasted in her life, as well as some _very_ enthusiastic sex. Her phone had been out almost the entire time, taking photos nonstop. “I'm really glad we decided to go.”

Mom smiles wider. “Do you think he's going to pop the question?”

Lydia picks up her suitcase, shifting her center of gravity to compensate. “Mom I _just_ graduated high school. Jordan knows I'm planning on going to college in the fall. If he's going to pop the question he knows I won't say yes or no until after I've finished my degree.” Though now that her mom's mentioned it, she finds herself wondering if fae marriage was different from human marriage, were there poly marriages?

“Maybe you should ask dear, a man like that doesn't come along often, and you don't want to lose him.”

Her suitcase hits the stairs loudly and Lydia narrows her eyes at the second floor carpet. “Mom, Jordan's not an _object,_ I can't 'lose' him like a phone. If we don't last it's because we just couldn't work things out.” Lydia doesn't think she's fooling herself when she thinks that's unlikely to happen. Jordan—or Peter for that matter—hasn't said 'those words' to her, but she's about 97% certain he loves her. 'Til death do us part' is a lot more daunting when the both of you were practically immortal.

Not wanting to argue anymore with her mom about it she scoops up her suitcase again and finishes going to her room. She unpacks slowly, putting off talking with her mother again, or responding to the billion text the rest of the pack—or the ones she wasn't really talking to—sent her over the weekend. Being back home has her antsy for no reason she can discern. It's like she mainlined coffee and Red Bull, and she just wants it to _go away_.

Finally though she can't put it off any longer and throwing herself onto her bed she pulls out her phone and starts composing texts to Scott, Stiles, and Kira.

—

On the whole Lydia has fond memories of going to the lake. While she’s fairly certain there’s more to this get-together than having fun and blowing off steam now that school’s over she’s not going to let that get to her just yet.

She stares at her reflection in the mirror and admires her dark purple bikini. People will stare, but that’s part of the point. She’s not ashamed of her scars anymore—last summer was last summer and if she spent nearly all of it teaching herself Aeolic Greek well that was her choice. She _wants_ people to see to show those who know about the supernatural that she did the impossible, _survived_ a werewolf attack. Tearing her gaze away she heads over to her bed and pulls on the oversized, on her, button up she'd stolen from Jordan last week. Part of her would have preferred wearing something of Peter's, but that was still a relationship she didn't want everyone else to know about. Not a shameful secret, though she's certain if the rest of the pack ever finds out about it they'll find it shameful, but something she's unwilling to share none the less.

And on the topic of relationships. If this _is_ something of a confrontation, don't think it didn't escape her notice that Danny and Ethan hadn't been invited—actually neither had Jordan—but she's bringing Jordan anyways because she wants him there and she's fairly certain in the eyes of Scott Jordan can do no wrong. Which she finds amusing and vaguely worrying for reasons she's not quite sure of—Peter still being persona non grata.

Speaking of...leaving the shirt unbuttoned she takes a quick selfie and texts it to Peter as a consolation of some sort. Then again she thinks if he'd been invited he probably would have refused on some sort of principle. Her phone buzzes and she looks to see a response from Peter: _What a lovely tease, though the next picture you send should be you tied up with that top. Maybe Jordan could help._ She finds herself flushing and squirming, probably Peter's intent, and she's glad she's alone in her room.

The honk of a car horn in the driveway makes her jump and she makes an angry sound at herself. She slips on her flip-flops as she does up a few of the buttons. Slipping her phone into her bag she slings it over her shoulder and puts on her sunglasses and sun hat. “Bye mom! Be back tonight, maybe.” She shouts as she heads down the stairs. Once in Jordan's passenger seat she leans over and gives him a deep kiss. “Thanks for agreeing to this.” She says again as they pull apart.

Jordan ducks in to lay a brief kiss on her cheek before facing completely forward again and putting the car in reverse. “I don't mind at all Lydia, I'm glad you asked me.”

The rest of the drive to the lake is spent in mostly idle chatter, though they do briefly chat about the upcoming trip to the Winter Court, _two days_ , and the subsequent moving into the lake house when they return; an electric thrill courses through her at that thought. A whole place just for them. Where they don't have to hide, or pretend. Maybe then she won't even care what the pack thinks of her for being with Peter.

Pulling into the day camp parking lot something like dread turns her stomach.

' _beware_. _'_

“What?” She turns to Jordan.

“Huh?” He blinks at her as he turns off the car.

She gives a little frown. “I thought I heard you say something.”

“Nope,” he shakes his head before climbing out of the car. She quickly and they head down the path towards the lake itself.

The pack isn't the only one taking advantage of the day, they pass about twenty other groups on their way to the dock Scott and Stiles probably staked out. Lydia waves and says hi to the people she knows and next to her Jordan occasionally nods to people he's probably encountered on the job. Upon reaching the dock Lydia nearly gets smothered by Malia, in what the other girl probably considered a hug. “You're back.” She allows Malia to rub her cheek over her shoulders for about all of thirty seconds.

“I still need to breath sweetheart,” Lydia says it gently though. Malia lets go of her in a flash, looking sheepish.

“Want me to take your stuff?” Jordan asks.

Lydia shakes her head. “Nah,” she gestures at the dock. “I'm gonna go out and catch some sun.” He nods and heads over to the picnic table where everyone else's things have been piled, sitting on the table is an ancient boom box someone jury-rigged to be Ipod compatible, music blares from it.

Malia follows as Lydia heads to the dock. “How do you catch sun? I thought it was just light.”

“It's just a saying Malia.” She waves at Mason who's chatting animatedly with Kira.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Malia frown slightly. “Oh, I think that makes sense.”

Opening her 'beach' bag Lydia pulls out her towel, even if something later goes horrible she's going to enjoy what she can. Laying her towel out she sits on it, shrugs off her overshirt and pulls out sunscreen. Liam and Mason start a water fight nearby, pulling Malia away from Lydia. Big dollop of sunscreen in hand she starts applying it. “Hey Jordan. Come do my back,” she calls out in a teasing manner.

“I'll do your back Lydia!” Stiles answers.

Even if no one can see it through her sunglasses Lydia still rolls her eyes. “Oh please, I have to give my poor, belabored boyfriend _something_ to do.”

Jordan's laugh sounds right behind her. “Hand me the bottle,” he says quietly.

She tosses it back and presents her back. “Do you need sunscreen too?”

“No.” His steady hands rub her back wonderfully. “It's not like I can get cancers like that, and I like being in the sun anyways.” Her mind files away the 'cancers like that' statement as something to be investigated later, and eagerly arches under his touch. “Why, did you want to do the honors?”

“As an excuse to grope that delectable ass of yours? Damn straight.”

He laughs, while Liam and Scott simultaneously shout 'oh my god' in embarrassment. Which causes her to join in with Jordan's own laughter.

Sadly his hands soon leave her. “You got room on that towel for one more?”

She scoots to the far side, stretching her legs out and leaning back on her elbows, enjoying the warm sun. She might be more _tolerant_ of cold temperatures, but it didn't mean she _liked_ them. Jordan lays out next to her, his head by her feet, almost instantly he closes his eyes smiling.

A few minutes later he's dozing as Mason walks up, having finally pulled himself away from the now water war going on by the shore. They chat for a few minutes about this and that, overall summer plans, her intent to smuggle Mason into Jungle one of these days to find him a potential boyfriend—the doorman always stared at her tits when she'd go with Danny she could totally get Mason in—Mason's insistence that that _didn't_ need to happen, movies coming out in the next few months.

It's nice, she's so used to talking shop to the people she considers friends that talking about banal things is refreshing. Mason gets called away by Stiles, which she thinks is intentional; it hasn't escaped her notice that Scott, Stiles, and Kira have yet to do more than say hello to her. Though there are footsteps headed her way and she turns her head slightly to see Kira headed their way iftaking her time about it. Well Kira would get here when she got here, in the mean time Lydia turns her back towards the lake.

Over on the other side she can just barely see construction workers moving in and around _her_ lake house, all the outside is done and if things are going to plan they're probably finishing up the insides too. Soon the house will be in the hands of the interior decorator and the landscaping company she'd hired. She'd already picked most everything out, especially for the room the three of them are going to call 'theirs', the one which Jordan jokingly refers to as the 'master attic'. “ _You can laugh about it now_ ,” she'd told him at the time, “ _but wait until you see the giant stone bowl tub I found._ ” It had been a fantastic find and could easily fit all three of them.

A faint _bang_ sound echoes across the lake and drew her attention back to the present.

“You know what they're planning on doing?” Kira's towel creates a breeze as she spreads it out on the dock next to Lydia's.

Lydia looks at her over the rim of her sunglasses, “how should I know? It's not like mom knows the person who bought it.” True, Peter looks different now than when he and mom met. “As far as I'm concerned as long as they don't hurt anyone they're free to do whatever they want.”

Kira sits and starts applying zinc sunblock, which to Lydia defeats the purpose of sun _bathing_ but whatever, “you're not curious at all? Or sad to see the house go?”

She sighs and turns a little so she's actually facing Kira. “No Kira, I'm not curious. Nor am I sad to see it go. I say good riddance in fact. I know I wouldn't want to live in a house where all that bad stuff happened.” Next to her she feels Jordan stir, she reaches out and lays a hand on his stomach to let him know she's alright.

“Well _I'm_ curious. I kind of liked the place.”

Lydia huffs. “Sure if you liked the seventies.”

Kira sticks her tongue out. “Hey, some really great stuff happened in the seventies.”

“Not in the realm of colors it didn't.” Seriously, who thought brown and an orange somehow both pastel and neon went together?

With a harrumph Kira finishes her applying and lies down. Faintly she can hear the chatter from everyone else, and despite all the tension she's marginally enjoying herself. Next to her Jordan stirs again, this time eyes actually opening. Squinting he sits upright and leaning down kisses her shoulder, Kira gives a romantic sigh. “I'm gonna go grab my sunglasses alright?” She nods and holds out her hands after he stands, she could do with a brief walk around the area herself. Jordan hauls her up easily, giving her a real kiss before jogging down the dock and back towards his car.

“I really hope you two work out,” Kira says as Lydia rises up to the balls of her feet, reaches up, and stretches.

“I”m sure we will,” Lydia answers as she starts walking down the dock. As she passes the picnic bench she snags a snack bar and starts eating as she strolls along. From the other side of the small area they'd staked out Scott and Stiles are giving her Significant Looks. Lydia steels herself, tossing the remains of her snack into the nearest garbage can.

Sure enough, not a minute later Stiles and Scott are approaching her, despite her anticipation of something like this happening she still tenses. Even more so when she realizes Jordan's not here, still getting his sunglasses. Scott...Scott looks nervous as he steps towards her, and she finds herself taking a step back. He freezes and his face scrunches up, but he doesn't try to move forward again. “Lydia,” he sounds resigned, and Lydia finds she's becoming resigned herself. “We know you're with Peter.”

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at him, not backing down. “So? I fail to see a problem.”

“He's _evil_ Lydia!” Stiles sounds angry. “He's tried to kill us all, multiple times. How can you trust him?”

Her own anger blooms like frost, encroaching over everything. “Yes Stiles, but that was a year and a half ago and since he's come back he hasn't tried to kill any of us.” She can feel the air around her starting to chill and she tries to pull it in as much as possible. Like Peter had been, her Winter powers aren't something she wants them to know about.

She turns on Scott. “You gave Ethan, Aiden, Deucalion, fuck even _Kate_ second chances Scott.” She doesn't care that her voice is rising, drawing attention from other people nearby. “What is it about Peter that you can't do that Scott? What sin has he committed that you apparently can't forgive? Tell me Scott!” unintentionally some glamour creeps into her voice, but she doesn't stop it. _Good_ , she finds herself thinking, _maybe it means he'll finally realize how_ stupid _he's being._ She wants...she wants to dunk him the coldest water she can until he sees some fucking sense.

No matter how hard he wants it he can't have his cake and fucking eat it too.

Typically though Scott doesn't answer, he looks uncomfortable though. _Good_. Icy anger driving her on she goes up to him and shoves, the look of surprise on his face when he moves is deeply satisfying. “I thought so. Yes, I'm fucking Peter, and you know what? I sometimes fuck Jordan at the same time.” Varying mixtures of shock and disgust appears on everyone's faces, except Malia who looks a little impressed. “You want to know why? Because they make me happy Scott. But I can't be happy now can I?” She feels like she's made only of ice now, and despite the fact that his eyes are red she's not backing down. If it came to a fight even though she's had less practice she thinks she could take him. She's got an ace up her sleeve after all. “I have to suffer because I'm the reason Allison's dead.”

The words make Scott stumble more than her shove had, and Stiles is between them. “Woah, woah. I think we should all calm down here. We know Peter's got some sort of hold or control over you Lydia. We know it's not your fault, and we can _help._ ”

The laugh she gives isn't pretty. “You think Peter's _controlling me_.” Just the idea of it is incredulous. Peter's never done anything to her that she hasn't agreed to try since their relationship started. “ “And oh, I am calm Stilinski.” She glares at him before returning her attention to Scott. “Why don't I _calmly_ tell you, Alpha McCall, that I _tried_ to not get her to come, but she go caught up in _your_ shining knight crusade and sanctimonious need to save _everyone_. So maybe it's _your_ fault she's dead Scott. Or maybe it's Stiles' fault.” He recoils into Scott. “I mean he's the one who got possessed. Why aren't you blaming him Scott?” Reaching up she dashes at the frozen tears in her eyes.

“Lydia?” She shies away from Mason's hand, not only because she doesn't want his comfort right now, but because she's fairly certain touching her would hurt him.

“Don't touch me,” she gentles her voice as best she can. She and Mason are starting to become and she doesn't want to ruin that. “You know what Alpha McCall, _fuck you_. She was my _best friend_ and you got her killed. I'd like to think she'd at least understand that I just want to be _happy_.”

She turns on her heel and storms off, nearly running into Jordan halfway down the trail. “Lydia?” Gently he grabs her biceps. Unlike with Mason she lets him. “Are you alright?”

“No,” she hates how sullen she sounds.

After a few more seconds of staring at her he comes to a decision of some sort. “Come on.” He goes into the woods and she finds herself following.

—

Jordan finds himself worrying as Lydia's icy presence follows him. Something happened while he was gone and he has to hold back the urge to demand what it was.

When he thinks they're far enough away no one will stumble across them he gently grabs Lydia's hands. With his senses he finds a pine tree basically dead from rot and stepping over to it puts her hands on it. “I want you to take the deepest breath you can Lydia, and when you exhale I want you to push out all that ice in you too.”

She gives a shaky nod, which is encouraging, and inhales, strange how the situation makes it easy to not really notice the way her breasts fill her bikini more fully when she does so. Closing her eyes she holds her breath for a few moments before exhaling in a rush. An attention grabbing _crack_ fills the area, loud enough to be mistaken for gunfire—they shouldn't linger—while the tree Lydia had forced all that cold into buckled and split, bits of bark and wood flying everywhere. Her expression is a little shocked.

“Come on," he repeats. Gently he grabs her again and starts leading her back towards the trail, drawing a little glamour over the both of them so they're not noticed by anyone who decides to investigate. “Do you want to talk about it?” She looks so small and lost that he just wants to curl up around her and kill anyone who tried to hurt her.

She shakes her head. “Not right now, I just, can we just go to your place and watch something please?”

“We can do that.” He quickly unlocks his car and helps her into the passenger seat. “Do you have everything you want?”

“No.” She seems a little more aware of herself. “My phone, can you get it for me?” She quickly goes straight back to lost.

He nods. “Yeah. Do you want me to grab your other things, or is there someone there you trust to take care of everything else?” It stands to reason that one of the pack did this to her and he needs to know who she still trusts and who he needs to watch out for.

“Malia, maybe Mason. But,” she shackles his wrists with her hands, a reversal of the usual. “but just grab it all please?”

He nods again, and leans down to kiss her forehead. “I'll be back as quick as I can alright? And please close the door and lock the car.”

She curls up a little in the passenger seat. “Alright.” She lets him go and reaches for the car door, after he steps back she closes it and he hears the tale-tell _shunck_ of the locks engaging.

As he jogs down the path back to the lake he finds himself preparing himself for a fight, whether it's with fists or with words he's certain he can take them, they're children—practically babies to him. But when he gets to the lake no one will meet his eyes as he strides towards Lydia's bag. They feel shame so thick he thinks even the normal humans can sense it. Crouching down he grabs Lydia's towel and starts folding it, tensing when he hears footsteps. “Is Lydia alright?”

Malia. He turns a little and starts folding slower. “She'll be alright eventually.” The look of relief makes him ache, and because he _needs_ to know. “What happened?”

Malia shifts her weight, crosses her arms. “Lydia and Scott, and Stiles too I guess, got into a fight. It felt weird, like drinking water that's been pissed in.” She talks quietly, but he's fairly certain no one's eavesdropping on them. “Scott was worried about her being with my sire”—it takes him a moment to remember that's Peter—“and it seemed to...explode from there and they somehow got to Allison's death.”

 _Oh_ , he knows it still bothers Lydia, he doesn't think she blames herself but she does feel some guilt over it. Finally he can't fold the towel any smaller and tucks it away into Lydia's bag, though not before checking that her phone's there.

“Are you with my sire too?”

Malia's question draws him up short. “What?”

From the look of her she's going to brazen it out with her usual aplomb. “Lydia said she was with you too, so are you with Peter? Do I have to call you pops or something?”

He chokes back a laugh. “Yes I'm in a relationship with Peter too.” He might as well admit it since she now knows about Lydia and Peter. “You don't have to call me anything you're not comfortable with, Jordan will do just fine.”

She gives a deft nod. “Alright. See you later Jordan.” Without warning she dives into the lake, he barely manages to step back fast enough to avoid getting wet. It takes him less time to grab his stuff than Lydia's, though perhaps more awkward considering his stuff's right among everyone else's and there's a lot of 'you're not really there' going around.

As he heads back to his car he wonders what's going to happen next. If they'll try to patch things up, or if that was the shatterpoint and there was no going back. Either way he'll stand by Lydia's side in whatever capacity she needs him. Lydia looks relieved when she sees him, he finds himself equally glad she doesn't seem any worse than before. Once everything's put away he gets in the car and starts it. Not speaking until they're on the road proper. “Malia told me the gist of what happened.”

He can practically feel Lydia tense. “Oh.” She does her best to curl up despite the seatbelt. “I guess you want me to talk about it then?”

Very carefully he shrugs. “Not unless you want to Lydia. I'm not going to force you to do something you're apparently not ready for. Are we going to tell Peter about it?”

She uncurled herself, resting her forehead on the window. “We, _I_ , should. It was basically about him.”

That's not an answer, but he finds he can't press her right now. So he focuses on getting them to his house.

—

Feeling tired and more worn than he has any right to be Scott stares out at the lake. Barely starting when he felt Kira sit down beside him. “Do you think she's right?” Lydia's words are stuck on repeat in his head. _“So maybe it's_ your _fault she's dead Scott.” Your fault, your fault._ It's too reminiscent of recent nightmares, and he finds himself shaken.

“I,” Kira grimaces. “I didn't know Allison very well. But it seemed to me she went because Lydia and Stiles were her friends and she wanted to save them.” She scoots closer to him, close enough that he can feel the faint crackle of her aura as well as her skin. “I think she died doing what she believed in.”

Scott finds himself flinching. “I just, I want to keep everyone _safe_.” All the people he knows have suffered enough to last a lifetime. Peter did something to her and is _still_ doing something to her; and maybe to Parrish too. It hurts that she doesn't think she needs his help.

Kira moves closer, now sitting right next to him, the feel of her skin pressing against his comforting. “Scott...It's alright to want that.” Briefly a smile twitches at her lips. “It's one your best traits. But, what about people who don't want your help? Would you force them to accept it just so you feel better?” Now she’s the one looking over the lake. “I think, sometime, we’re going to have to accept that we can’t save everyone.”

Something in him shifts uncomfortably at that, it makes him feel queasy and restless. Turning his head he rests his forehead against Kira’s shoulder. “I don’t want there to be an ‘or’ Kira.”

She wraps an arm around him in a one arm hug and doesn’t say anything.

—

“Lydia?” Peter knocks gently on the bedroom door. When he doesn't get an immediate response, not even a simple 'go away', he pushes the door open, peering easily into the dim light of the room. Lydia's easy to spot, curled up on the bed, the gray comforter making her look even paler than usual. He pads in, shifting the bed as he sits on it and reaching out for her exposed shoulder. Jordan had said something'd happened at the lake today with the pack but wouldn't elaborate further, insisting it was Lydia's tale to tell. “Sweetheart?”

Under his touch she shifts slightly closer to him, she's not crying anymore but he can smell old salt on her. It makes him want to hunt down Scott and rip out his vocal chords. “They know about us.” Her tired, dead tone has him toeing off his shoes and socks so he can curl around her. Letting her bury her face in his shoulder. “They think you're controlling me somehow.”

He doesn't bother asking who 'they' are or how they figured out. The first is obvious and the second doesn't exactly matter much in the face of everything else. He finds he's glad though. He hated having to lurk around with her, having to go out of town on dates, not being able to show her his favorite spots in the preserve. Perhaps he'd been a little jealous of Jordan for being able to do whatever he want to with her in town. Though if he had it'd been greatly overshadowed by the fact that he and Jordan faced the same problem as himself and Lydia. The idea that they think he's controlling her is laughable, the bond between them just doesn't make that a possibility, not anymore he thinks. It _can't_.

Soothingly he runs a hand down her back, not failing to notice the lack of clothing under his palm but unless she starts making sexual overtures he won't comment on it either. An almost quiet sigh escapes her at his touch and he feels her relax slightly. In silence they remained that way for a few more minutes. Content to just be there. Until Lydia shifts herself upwards enough to set her teeth gently on his ear and tug. He hums and lets his hand drift down a little farther, barely grazing her ass. Under the comforter he feels her legs begin to move, belatedly realizing she's shoving her part of the blanket down. Revealing herself to his gaze.

She's still wearing that purple bikini, which looks even better in person, though nearly all of the ties have been undone. She quickly distracts him, her lips coming into contact with his own; tongue asking for entrance. Which he gives wholeheartedly, returning the kiss with equal enthusiasm. Her hands slide under his shirt, seemingly covering every inch of his chest. He jumps and yelps into the kiss when a cold spot forms at the small of his back.

He sharply pulls away and the cold spot vanishes, leaving him with a lightly flushed Lydia. “Sorry.” She leans in and pecks his cheek. “I'm still a little...overwrought.” She sounds embarrassed, which he won't have at all.

He pulls back a little further and gives her a lecherous grin and waggles his eyebrows. “I can help with that.”

As hoped it gets a short burst of laughter from her. “You can try,” she challenges.

Oh he will.

Climbing off the bed he pulls off his shirt as he walks over to their dresser. Grabbing a condom from the pile, he turns around and makes an elaborate show of taking his pants off. Her gaze is avid as he does so. Tucking the condom into the waistband of his boxers he returns to the bed, crawling until he's above her. Gently he divests her of her swimsuit, leaving her naked below him. Leaning down he gives her another kiss, this one much more leisurely than the last. She arches into it, and a sigh echoes in his mouth. This time when he breaks away she pouts. He doesn't let her wear the expression for long, shifting down just enough to begin an assault on her neck.

He rumbles in pleasure when he feels her hands move in his hair. In reward he shifts even lower, nipping at her collarbone before continuing onto a nipple. She arches even more, a soft moan falling from her lips. Taking his time he lavishes both with attention, sucking and nibbling and licking until she's a writhing mess beneath him, an endless stream of quiet sounds coming from her.

That accomplished he moves downwards again, nuzzling her belly and scars, covering them in soft kisses before reaching his final destination. Shifting his position he nudges her legs apart enough to make space for him. Sinking down he makes himself comfortable before reaching out and sinking a finger inside her. She gasps in surprise and her grip on his hair tightens, egging him on. His other hand joins the first parting her lips enough to give his mouth unimpeded access. The whimper he gets from her when he sets his mouth on her clit has him grinding into the bed, seeking his own relief. At the moment he's just going to have to content himself with that as he gets to work bringing her to orgasm.

He does so diligently, leaving no part of her untouched. Soon her sounds get more and more quiet, hard for even his hearing to pick up. Then she comes, yanking a few of his hairs out in the process—no that he's going to complain—before her grip becomes limp. Disentangling from her he cleans off his face before shifting up to his knees. She stares at him sleepy eyed but expectant. While he'd hate to disappoint he's not quite done relaxing her. Moving back even more he reaches out and turns her over, she goes with it, but it's clear she'd expected penetration.

Moving up he straddles her ass and leans down. “Just be patient sweetheart, enjoy being pampered.” After a few silent seconds she hums in ascent and pulling himself up again he puts his hands on her shoulders and begins to message them.

“Oohhh.” He grins at the sound, even if she can't see him. He keeps his movements firm and even as he does his best to work out every tense muscle in her back. “Stars,” she mumbles into the pillow as he finishes. “I think you're turning me into goo.”

He chuckles and dives to lay a peck on the small of her back. “I do my best.” It takes a bit of maneuvering but he gets off his boxers off and rolls on the condom. Reaching out he spreads her legs apart again, this time also shifting her on to her side. Settling down behind her he noses at her ear. “Ready?”

Lydia throws her head back. “Mmmm, yes please.”

He aims and slowly slides right in. She shudders around him and her arms contort to reach behind and grab him. A grunt escapes him as her nails dig into his side, and in retaliation he takes a leg in hand and pulls it back, already changing the angle. Her nails dig deeper and his next thrust is harder. Her second orgasm comes a few thrusts later, and she moans. He keeps going, the hand gripping her thigh letting go and drifting ever so closer to her clit. He knows full well he can get another orgasm out of her if he plays his cards right.

She's limp and pliant in his hands, just barely moving with him, and fully silent. Only the changing of her breathing giving away her rising arousal. Peter keeps at it, feeling his own orgasm fast approaching. Her head falls back on his shoulder, hard, and she clenches around him. Another rumble leaves him and after a few more thrusts of his own he's coming; some of his own tension leeching out.

Knowing how uncomfortable she finds it he soon pulls out, making a note to clean himself up later as he rolls them into a position better suited for cuddling. Her breath ghosts across his chest, raising goose bumps in it's wake, and he starts running a soothing hand through her hair. He keeps silent though, letting her dictate whether or not they continue their conversation. It seems not though, because her breath evens out as she slips into sleep.

Peter keeps her close afraid of what might happen if he lets go.

—

Jordan-Erwann would feel more awkward over going to the McCall house if he didn’t feel he and Scott needed to have a talk. He pushes what little nerves he’s feeling to the side and knocks on their door. He’s only a little surprised when it’s Rafe McCall who opens the door. The man blinks at him. “Deputy Parrish, is something wrong?”

From McCall’s tone ‘wrong’ sounds like it covers everything from misfiled paperwork to a terrorist attack. “No sir.” It’s both hard and east to only act like a deputy who’s slightly sarcastic but well meaning. “I just hoped Scott was in so we could have a little chat.” He infuses his last few words with a desire to be alone. He has no doubt that McCall will eavesdrop if he thinks it’ll get him useful information.

“Of course.” McCall steps aside. “Scott just got in a few minutes ago, he should still be in his room. Though be quite, Melissa’s sleeping off her last shift.”

As if he would purposefully try to wake her. “Thanks.” He passes McCall and heads up the stairs. Figuring it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out which one is Scott’s. Indeed it's not, the door is wide open, showing Scott lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Even though Jordan intends for this to be a confrontation he still knocks on the door frame. Scott sits upright like a shot. Taken aback by Jordan. Not waiting for an invitation Jordan-Erwann steps inside the room and closes the door behind him. “We need to talk.”

The expression on McCall's face turns either apprehensive or worried, Erwann can't quite tell. Still the boy stands and meets his eyes. “Alright.”

Bizarrely enough there's a feeling of anger trying to make itself known, to take over everything and have him _cream_ McCall. Something in him though is holding it back, and he pushes aside the confusion over it to join his earlier panic. “I don't think you had any right to do that to Lydia, especially in front of everyone else and in public.”

This time it's easy to to tell McCall's bewildered. “We were all there to show Lydia that we _care_ about her, we're her _friends!_ ” He doesn't exactly shout it but he's close to.

“It didn't seem that way to Lydia. Why didn't you just come over alone to talk to her about it?” Erwann doesn't think it would've gone any better if he had, but at least that way it might've felt less like an attack.

McCall takes a step towards Erwann, though Erwann's not stupid enough to give ground to a werewolf, and a teenaged one at that. “Because we _all_ wanted to be there for her, we're worried about her.” Before Erwann can point out how weak that sounds coming from McCall's mouth, McCall blurts out: “we're worried about you too. Whatever Peter's got on you, we can help too. You don't need to be afraid.” The look on Scott's face is one Jordan's seen countless times before, on people both good and bad, ' _we can save you, make you better_ '.

Except Scott's _seriously_ off about his idea of 'saving'. Jordan should probably feel bad about laughing in Scott's face, but he doesn't. “What the fuck makes you think I need saving Scott? Maybe I'm with Peter simply because I enjoy his company and I like him.”

Scott's expression shifts to 'sour lemon'. “How can you like Peter? He's killed people!”

Some the anger battering at the gates of his mind slips in, but not enough for Erwann to do something as stupid as attack Scott. Not because he thinks he'd lose, Alpha or not Erwann could take someone like McCall easy, but because he doesn't want to draw Rafe's attention. “So have I McCall, whole graveyards worth if I'm going to be honest. Killing people doesn't make you bad McCall. Do you think you're dad's a bad person because he's killed people?”

“No!” Scott sounds outraged. “He only does it when he has to, and he _hates_ it.”

Ah to be young and full of naïve conviction. “You know what,” he sighs. “I'm not even going to try and convince you otherwise on any of that, because I'm fairly sure nothing I say will convince you that Peter isn't who you think he is.” Now he takes a step closer, not at all afraid to tower over McCall. “I'm just going to say one thing more. You hurt Lydia again, no matter how you do it, and I _will_ hurt you. She is _far_ more important than you can comprehend and any harm done to her will effect far more than just the three of us. Do enough harm and none of you may live to see college.” No fae court took the injury of their royalty lightly.

“Is that a threat?” It comes out a little slurred from the fangs now sprouting from McCall's mouth, and his eyes turn bloody red as he stares up at Erwann, foolishly unafraid. Then again he didn't really know what he was dealing with.

“A bit more than that, but yes.” Without waiting for a reply Erwann turns, contemptuously showing McCall his back, and leaves. McCall and his pack could think and do what they would, Erwann would be more than ready to defend his princess and his lover against all comers.

—

Scott shakes with rage as he watched Parrish leave. _How dare he! I'm a_ true _Alpha, how dare he treat me like I'm a spoiled brat!_ The sheer contempt that had poured off Parrish when he'd talked about how Lydia was more important than all the rest of them galled. He didn't know what Peter's game was with all of this, _but if it was Peter then why did Jordan say Lydia_ _—_ the rest of the thought gets squashed before Scott can even finish it.

One way or another Peter's games were going to end.

—

The Arcata-Eureka airport is tiny, but they're not planning on going far so it'll work. It had surprised Peter a little to find they only needed to get to Missoula, Montana to get to the nearest access point for the Winter Mound. Checking their bags goes quickly since none of them packed much—“ _Everything you will need will be provided for you in the Mound, pack only that which you cannot go without.”_ Boarding doesn't take long either, and they manage to grab the only row of three: Lydia takes the window seat and Peter has to do a little manhandling to make sure Jordan gets the middle seat—the poor boy needs a little love.

Peter won't admit it, but he's glad they're getting out of town, for a little while, especially after last week. Lydia thinks she can hide it because she doesn't stay over all that often but he knows she hasn't been sleeping. He can feel it in her well of power, he doesn't think there's such a thing as 'low' but there's less there than usual. She's always smelling exhausted.

It's easy to ignore the captain's pre-flight speech, in favor of lifting the armrest between himself and Jordan and pulling him closer. Jordan huffs in laughter, but doesn't fight it, Lydia smiles. They have to break apart, or at least enough that they can both buckle up. A few minutes later they're taxing down the airstrip and lifting off.

The higher they get in the air, the lighter Peter feels. Like with Malia in Death Valley. It's enough that he finds himself relaxing, old tensions seeping away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Welcome to the Winter Court.


	28. Chapter 28

Even though there's only an hour's difference between Montana and California she feels tired. Covering up a yawn she sways slightly as they walk off the plane and limpets herself to Jordan's side. A chuckle escapes him as his arm wraps around her. “Almost there love.” He kisses her temple.

Peter's hand brushes her shoulder as they start to head over to the carousel to grab their bags. “Do we have a ride, or do we need to find a rental place?”

Jordan hums. “There should be someone waiting for us.”

They walk out of baggage claim to arrivals and Peter makes a sound. Following his gaze she sees a man in a suit holding a sign that reads 'Martin'. “Guess that's us.”

The man smiles at them. “Greetings, I'm George and I'll be your chauffeur. May I take the bags sir?”

Peter smiles. “Of course.”

Bags exchange hands, and George gives a little bow. “If you all would follow me.” Exiting the airport they walk to short term parking and George leads them into the late afternoon sunlight towards a boring sedan. Unlike the plane ride, where she and Peter kept Jordan between them, she finds herself ensconced in the middle seat.

Lydia lets herself drowse as they pull out, her head resting against Peter's shoulder. Jordan's voice becomes pleasing white noise as he starts talking with George, asking after family members and the state of said family's farm. It's a nice way for the time to pass and before she knows it they're pulling into a driveway. Peter nudges her gently. “Are you going to walk? Or should one of us carry you?” He sounds amused.

She huffs and blinking sits upright. “I can walk.” She might look like a drunk doing it, but she wasn't going to collapse any time soon.

“Alright.” Peter manages to not sound condescending. He climbs out of the car and offers her an hand. Magnanimously she takes it.

They're parked near an old, but well cared for, house. Four stories tall with light spilling from nearly every window. It's warm and well, homey, and Lydia for some reason finds herself comforted by it. “This way please.” George's voice makes her jump, and she whirls around to see him standing at the edge of a what might be a grain field of some sort—Lydia preferred physics and chemistry to botany. George starts walking through it, on a path that Lydia can barely see, and the three of them hurry to catch up. The walk through the grain field leaves Lydia feeling rejuvenated. Which she appreciates as they trek through yet another field, she'd hate for the first thing she did at the Winter Court to be a nap.

Though she didn't think the Winter Court would be out in the middle of nowhere. Finally thought Lydia sees what must be their destination.

Morana stands next to a large hill, seemingly out of place in the otherwise flat grass field. She’s wearing a dress this time, a dark, almost black green. It makes her skin appear snow white, which is helped along by the fact all of her hair’s been pinned up in a style Lydia can quite make out in the shade of the hill. She's also smiling slightly as they come to a stop in front of her. “Greeting, and welcome to an entrance of the Winter Court.” Turning to George she steps up in front of him and leaning down kisses him on the forehead. “Your service is noted and appreciated George Michael McManus. You may go now.”

George bows low a few times, apparently flustered by mother's attentions. “Thank you Your Majesty.” After he sets their bags down he practically runs back across the fields towards the farmhouse.

With him gone Morana turns her full attention to them. “Welcome home Lydia, and you as well Erwann.”

Peter bows before Morana can ask after him, Lydia finds herself biting back a smile at the action. “My name is Peter Hale, Your Majesty.”

“Ah yes, you were lurking when Lydia and I first met.” Which sounds more like a statement of a fact than any sort of accusation.

He gives his most charming smile. “Indeed. It is a pleasure to finally meet you Your Majesty.”

If Morana's pleased by the attention she doesn't show it. “And I welcome you as well Peter Hale, know that while you walk as a guest in my halls you bear my protection. Any who harm you without grievous provocation from you shall be punished.”

“Your words comfort me Your Majesty.” To think, Lydia had been worried about how Peter might fare at the Court.

Mother gives a nod. “Now, we shall enter. Lydia? Attend please.”

Lydia isn't quite sure what all 'attend' entails, but she thinks it's a safe bet to assume at the very least it means walking up to her mother. “Yes?”

“When you are leaving it will be far easier to open a door, but opening from this end can be tricky. Here.” Lydia gives a start of surprise when her mother's cool hand takes her own and lifts it up. “Feel what I do, at the moment I do not think you will need to be able to copy my actions, but it is never too early to begin learning.” It's subtle, like brushing against silk, but Lydia feels something. She's glad Morana said she wouldn't have to do this herself just yet, because she hadn't been able to do much _beyond_ feel it.

Before them the hill _splits_ open, like a giant breaking an apple in two. When it stops there's a large fissure leading into murky blueness. Morana takes a step towards it, Lydia blinks when she notices the luggage starts floating after her mother. “Erwann bring up the rear please. Lydia, Peter, if you would stick close.” Not sure if the feeling welling up inside her is apprehension or awe Lydia begins following her mother.

They pass through the blue far faster than Lydia thought it would take, more like passing through a curtain than the fog she'd expected, and they find themselves in a brightly lit stone hall. It's sparsely decorated, no greenery what so ever—not that Lydia expected any—and the surrounding stone carved into jagged looking mountains. If this is the entrance to the Winter Court it's less imposing than Lydia'd thought it would be. The lack of halls or doors, however, is worrying.

“Your Majesty?” A gray haired man in a dark blue suit seemingly steps out of thin air. His skin has a purplish cast to it, but Lydia can't tell if that's from the suit or if it's his natural skin color.

“Raginald, if you would be so kind as to take these to Sir Erwann's rooms.” The luggage floats over to him, settling noiselessly onto the floor. The man bows, picks up the luggage and begins walking off. The brief exchange reminds Lydia so much of a hotel that it leaves her disoriented for a second. “I hope you do not mind Erwann that I took the liberty of moving your rooms. If any of you wish something to be changed let me know and I shall do it.”

Jordan inclines his head slightly. “So long as I can find them Your Majesty.” He's smiling slightly.

Morana softly snaps her fingers and a small, fluffy, glowing ball appears over her fingers, she flicks her wrist and it goes floating over to Jordan. “That shall lead you when we part ways. We will start on the same path.” It takes Lydia a second to realize that the entryway now has a hall leading off it. Was Morana doing all of it? Or did this dimension—it had to be a pocket dimension of some sort—have a sort of quasi-sentience to it that it shifted depending on what you wanted and where you wanted to go?

Before Lydia can think to ask though Morana begins walking, continuing to speak as she does so. “If you feel up to it I would like to introduce you to the court this evening at dinner, though a proper presentation won't happen until tomorrow. Breakfasts shall be brought to your room.” She looks at them sidelong.

“Lydia you and I shall head directly to the dressmakers, Erwann you and Peter are free to do as you wish, though I also suggest you take Peter to your tailor for clothes,”—Lydia and Jordan both nudge Peter to cut off any protest over his clothes—“as well as the blacksmith. The Summer Solstice is not until Friday, but I expect you to be as flawless in your comportment as possible Lydia, so you shall have lessons every day.” Lydia bites back a groan, she's sure she'll enjoy learning all the political-type things Morana has to teach her, but right now the thought of lessons isn't an attractive one. “Though they will most likely be comportment only. I do not intend to step down from my throne for a few centuries more, giving you much time to learn the intricacies of the court and its workings. I shall have a tutor sent for Peter, unless you wish to teach him Erwann?”

Jordan shrugs. “I'd better, I don't think many tutors could stand Peter.” In retaliation Peter pinches Jordan hard. Lydia can't help but roll her eyes at the two of them.

A brief smile crosses Morana's face. “I see. Then Lydia and I shall leave you two to your own devices, I shall not see you until dinner, but I shall make sure Lydia returns to your chambers when we are finished.”

Since it's clear they're parting ways for the moment Lydia goes hugs the both of them. “Behave,” she affectionately chides Peter as they pull apart.

“When have I never?” Peter mock pouts as he picks up her luggage.

Jordan and she share a look. “Don't worry Lydia I'll make sure he doesn't get into too much trouble.”

“Ah,” Morana interrupts them. “One final thing,” she turns to Peter. “If you wish I will have one of the McManus' bring food for you to consume, or eat of ours. It is your choice.” Lydia's mind doesn't quite catch on to what her mother is saying, at least not right away. It still comes to her though: those who eat fae food were bound to them, forever. A small part of her shivers at that, especially considering for her and Jordan it's just _food_.

If Peter knows this—and he has to, his father's side of the family _came_ from Ireland—he doesn't look worried. “If I do eat from your table, what would happen?”

Morana gives a nod, as if that's exactly the right question to ask. “You would be bound to return to our realm, or consume more of it, at least every six months. Easy enough to do as long as you are with my daughter.” Her gaze flicks to Lydia. “Who will hopefully be here every solstice. Nore often is better. Before you leave we shall make a Way to Beacon Hills itself, making the travel that much easier. You'll notice a difference when you return to normal food, it will not be quite as good as it was before. You are welcome to take some time and think about it, though some warning would be preferred so I may send a message to the house to set aside a portion for you.”

“Your offer is a generous one.” Peter sketches a little bow. “I believe I shall enjoy supping at your table.” Lydia wants to tease Peter on using 'supping', but well, in context it makes some sense. Also this isn't exactly the right time for teasing.

Instead she pulls them each down for a goodbye kiss. “I'll see you both later,” she says as she steps back towards her mother.

“Yes.” Jordan nods, as he takes Peter's hand in his.

Peter nods as well. “Have fun shopping.” She laughs as she watches them walk off.

“Come,” Morana sounds gentle and Lydia pulls herself away from watching her boys go and turns her attention back to her mother. Who is now standing in front of yet _another_ suddenly there hallway.

“How do you do that?” Lydia asks as they begin walking. This hallway isn't as plain as the previous one, long abstract tapestries line either side and every once in a while they pass sumptuous looking chairs.

“By virtue of being queen. I am tied to the Mound and it to me. When I give you the crown the same will happen to you.” A intersecting hall appears and Morana turns down it. “I can move everything and anything around as I see fit, though it is generally rude to move rooms without getting the permission of the inhabitants first, or making sure it is empty upon movement.”

Out of habit Lydia checks her phone for the time, only to notice that the clock on her lock screen's freaking the fuck out. Morana makes a thoughtful noise. “Ah, I should have mentioned that electronics tend to become...persnickety in here. It would probably be best if you turned it off.”

A suggestion that's completely fine with Lydia. Especially considering barely anyone knows she's here and she'd rather not deal with the 'pack' freaking the fuck out when they realized she'd left Beacon Hills yet again. Then again she'd just been planning on deleting any and all texts and e-mails she'd get from them. They had no right to show worry and concern for her after the shit they pulled a few days ago. She turns her phone of and tucks it away.

“Here we are.” They come to a stop in front of an elaborately carved door, with a pale blue light set into a niche about eye level for someone much taller than Lydia. The door swings open at Morana's touch and she gestures for Lydia to enter before her. Inside the dressmakers is one large room, full of more fabrics than Lydia thinks she's ever seen in her life. The dressmaker herself is a young, or young looking, tall yet plump woman with dirty blonde hair and a large smile. She curtsies upon seeing them. “Your Majesty, a pleasure as always. And who is this?”

“Hello Cecilia.” Morana gives an acknowledging tilt of her head. “This is my daughter Lydia. We are here to start her wardrobe.”

Cecilia curtsies again. “Yes Your Majesty.” She makes a brief gesture. “Step into the light your highness.”

Lydia's about to ask 'what light' when a shaft of sunlight shines down from the ceiling. _Ah_ , Lydia steps into it and focuses on Morana while Cecilia walks around her. Morana's moves to sit at a desk covered in papers and begins to go through them. “What are you doing, mother?” She tacks that on as an afterthought, she has no idea if there's any sort of appearance they need to be keeping up but it's probably best to act like there is for now.

“Cecilia is my dressmaker, so all the ladies wish for her to make them their dresses as well. I go through all the petitions and let her know which ones she may accept and which she may refuse.” She gives a small shrug. “These days a lack of options for punishing those who displease me means I must resort to petty means.”

Oh. It sounds a little like some of the things Lydia herself has done, and she didn't expect running a...country? Race? Culture? To be anything like high school. She twitches when she feels something cool start wrapping around her. She looks down to see Cecilia's four— _four?_ _—_ hands wrapping measuring tape around various parts of Lydia's body. They make quick work of it too, far faster than Lydia would have thought. Though she feels like Cecilia's measured every inch of her.

“Shoes.” Cecilia looks down pointedly.

“I'm sorry what?” What about her shoes?

“I need you to take them off, so I can measure for new ones.” Not _every_ inch of her had been measured yet. Lydia dutifully slips off her shoes and lifts her feet up one at a time for Cecilia's four hands to measure every inch of.

“What's going to be expected of me?” Lydia asks as Cecilia finally finishes the measuring and leaves to begin digging through her ocean of fabric bolts.

Morana turns her head slightly and looks at Lydia. “Less than you might expect Lydia. On Friday I will reaffirm your position as my heir before both courts, and you will name your retinue, your inner circle. The ones who will stay by your side and work in your best interests until one of you dies, or you release them from service.”

Cecilia returns, arms full of bolts, and the three of them begin to look through them. “Beyond your lovers it would be best for you to pick perhaps three others. Though you may chose more if you wish.” She picks up a indigo fabric with hundreds of small clear beads sown on, they catch the light throwing off small rainbows. “Something in this I think. Tonight after dinner many of the court will want to talk with you, try and convince you to pick them. A retinue is a prestigious position to occupy.”

Lydia nods, absorbing it all in, as her eyes glance over fabrics. They land on a sumptuous green brocade shot through with gold and she reaches out to feel, it's far softer than she expected. “I'd like this too. Is there anything in particular I should be looking for?” She never expected what sounds like the fae equivalent of a job interview to be a possibility.

Her mother shrugs as she puts a too true red in the 'discard' pile. “Pay attention and choose those you like best, those you _want_. Whatever talents or strengths they possess might not serve you now, but may do you well in the future. Qualifications aren't important.” Something Lydia finds both reassuring and terrifying at the same time. When it came to her peers she's gotten pretty good at being able to tell when people were evading, or just flat out lying. With creatures who were so far older than her that in their eyes she and Peter were the same? Well, she didn't even have a footing.

She has time yet before she has to make any sort of decision, and Morana and Jordan could help her wade through the good and less good.

She lets all of it percolate in the back of her mind, there but not taking up her every thought, as she goes back to picking out fabrics. They're at it for a full half an hour more, which is more time than Lydia's ever spent in her life looking at _fabric_ before. The bolts of fabric come to an end, or at least Cecilia stops bringing them forward, and there's a good stack of about fifty or so bolts set off for Lydia's wardrobe. She wonders if she'll be able to take it with her when she goes back to Beacon Hills, it seems a shame to get all these clothes made just for her and then she only has a week to wear them.

“What sort of style shall we be looking to? Or will it all be modern?”

The question startles Lydia out of her thoughts, and it takes her a moment to realize Cecilia's talking to her and not Morana. “Ah, just modern.” Lydia's never been one to look through books on old fashions. Sure she'd watch the occasional historical, but rarely for the 'costume porn', and she's got no idea what sort of old fashions might look good on her.

“Yes,” Morana agrees. “That would be best for now.” Going over to the bolts of fabric she picks up the indigo one from earlier. “A dress in this for tonight.”

Cecilia takes the bolt with a bow. “That will not be a problem at all Your Majesty. If you give me a path I can have it delivered as soon as I finish.”

Lydia should probably be paying attention as her mother gives directions, but she can't find it in her to do so, tuning it all out as her mind wanders back to having to sort through complete strangers to basically work for her. “Lydia.” She blinks and turns to see Morana standing by the door. “Come,” she says, her voice distant.

Apprehensive Lydia follows her mother.

—

Peter's nose itches, the wolf in him wary of so many new scents. There's cold, strange scents he has no words for, and people, so many people. The wariness has him sticking close to Jordan—or is he only Erwann now?—though part of that is also because Peter doesn't want to get 'suddenly' lost. Sticking close, but that doesn't stop his eyes from taking in everything they can. The floor in this hallways has a thin green-white rug running down the middle with doors about every fifty or so feet, each of them intricately carved. Was that the fae equivalent of addresses? Or just decorative?

The rest of him is more concerned with the fact that he's agreed to eat fae food, even though given the opportunity to not. He doesn't regret the choice and has no intention of changing it, but still all of those facts are...more than he expected of himself. Implicitly agreeing to be with Jordan and Lydia for the 'long haul' as it were.

“You alright?” Jordan reaches out and squeezes Peter's arm, the fuzzy snowball floats sedately in front of them.

He shrugs. “I'm not sure.” It's hard for him to even think of what words to use to describe this amalgamation of intense curiosity and wary fear.

Jordan turns his head slightly to give a faint smile. “I know it'll take some getting used to. After a while it's not so hard.” Which makes it out to be like going to a new school, a prospect Peter finds amusing, if not at all comforting.

The fuzzy snowball halts in front of a door just as carved as the rest, this one a massive tree nearly taking up the whole area. Even without the fuzzball, Jordan there, or the luggage waiting in front of it, Peter would've been able to tell this was Jordan's door. It's job now finished the fuzzball starts to fade away and the luggage lands on the ground with faint rattles. Next to him Jordan looks...rattled? Discomfited? Off-kilter? Or maybe it's just simple surprise. Peter mimics Jordan's early action. “What about you? How are you holding up?”

Jordan starts, then turns quickly, his pale green eyes slightly darker. He exhales slowly. “I'm, alright. It's just been a while and...” He drifts off.

Not that he needs to say anything more for Peter to catch his drift. Peter moves his hand up to rest on Jordan's shoulder and tries for a little levity. “Am I going to get the dime or the nickle tour? I hope your not expecting me to pay.”

The smile he'd hoped for twitches Jordan's lips. “I don't know, you seem like kind of a shady guy. Maybe the ha'penny tour.” He's smiling now and reaches out to push the door open.

“No locks?” He'd hate for some drunk fae to stumble into the room by accident.

“They're magic doors Peter, they don't need locks.” With the door now open Jordan steps back and grabs two of the suitcases, leaving Peter to pick up his own.

The room they enter isn't the bedroom Peter expected, more of a living room. Nearly covering all four walls is a large tapestry, a forest scene of some sort, it's eye catching colors managing to distract you enough from the fact that there are no windows. Not that Peter expected any underground. The only gaps in the tapestry are two doors, and a fireplace that leaves Peter's wolf unsettled. Besides that there are a few seating areas, probably for entertaining guests. There isn't as much live greenery as Peter expected from Jordan. Then again the man hasn't lived here in twenty years and the plants at his house are most likely the ones that would be here.

Besides the fireplace it's pleasant, not the sort of place Peter generally prefers. In keeping with Jordan's Spartan leanings—Peter's trying to cure him of it but so far no luck. Beside him Jordan makes a pleased sound, to which Peter gives him a questioning look. “The queen had cleaners come through, I doubt any of us would appreciate eighteen years of dust.” Now that Jordan mentions it, that wouldn't have been pleasant at all. “The bedroom's this way.” He starts walking to the door on the left.

As they go to the door Peter lets his eyes rove over the tapestry, spotting various woodland creatures tucked away. The detail of it is quite good, almost lifelike. Right next to the door there are people on horseback and...Peter raises himself up to get a closer look. “Is this you?”

Jordan follows Peter's gaze and flushes, which is all the answer Peter needs. “It was a thank you gift.” Jordan explains as he pushes open the door. Which Peter's guessing leads to Jordan's actual room.

It's a good likeness, though the Jordan in the tapestry is more blond than Jordan is in real life. He and the others around him must be 'preparing' for a hunt, all sumptuously dressed in clothes from another age. He wants to ask if one of them is his sister but holds it in. “How old is it?” He asks as he follows Jordan into the bedroom. Which is more decorated than the 'living' room but not by much. There's a desk, three wardrobes—two newer than the other—an armor stand, and a bed even plainer looking than the one in their bedroom, though far bigger. On the 'empty' wall is a large sea/icescape painting, and barely noticeable next to it another door.

Looking up from unpacking his things Jordan blinks. “What? Oh. The tapestry? Five or six hundred years old, why?”

“No reason, just curious.” Which is the truth, Jordan doesn’t talk much about anything much beyond the past century or so. Peter’s fairly certain it’s a Jordan thing, not a fae thing; that Jordan might be embarrassed to be the oldest out of all of them, and is going out of his way to not remind them of it. Sweet, but vaguely misguided. “Is is something that actually happened?”

Jordan shrugs as he hangs his sword up—and how on earth had he gotten that past customs? “I’ve done enough hunting in my lifetime that it could be true.” Peter should probably be unpacking his own things, but that sounds far too boring to him at the moment, though since Jordan’s clearly done with his...

With purpose Peter heads towards him, not bothering to hide what he’s attempting. Still the gasp of surprise that comes from Jordan when Peter pins him to the nearby wall is deeply satisfying. Leaning in just enough, Peter kisses Jordan, enjoying the way Jordan’s mouth gives under his assault. They break apart and Peter leans his forehead against Jordan’s. “Tell me, Sir Erwann,” he lets a note of teasing creep in. “How does it feel to be home?” Peter wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that Jordan calls the house he and Peter live in ‘home’, not in the same sense anyways.

“It’s,” Jordan’s eyelids flutter shut and he pushes slightly against Peter’s forehead. “It’s good. This place, it holds my soul.” Impossible green eyes open and Peter finds himself a little transfixed. “To be here with you and Lydia,” he presses a soft kiss against Peter’s cheek. “It means more to me than you can even imagine.” Something in Peter bursts at Jordan’s words and he kisses Jordan again, with much less finesse. The wolf in him’s far more settled than it’s been since they got here. The reassurance that Jordan’s _here_ , not leaving them more comforting than Peter ever expected it to be.

He’d never expected to fall in love with two people, but it’s becoming clear to him that he has.

Jordan breaks the kiss, eyes blown and panting. “We should be going.”

“Come on,” Peter wheedles. “We should see if this bed is as sturdy as yours. It'd be better to deal with a broken bed now, than later.”

Jordan squirms against him as he rolls his eyes. “We _really_ should be getting you to the blacksmith.”

Which isn't an unequivocal 'no', Jordan knows full well one of those will actually get Peter to stop. “I don't see why I should visit a blacksmith, I'm hardly liable to pick up a sword anytime soon.” He nuzzles under Jordan's jaw, scraping his teeth lightly against skin.

“Because, _ah_ , good armor takes time.” Clearly Peter needs to be upping his game if Jordan's still coherent.

And yet, Peter pulls away. Looking into Jordan's pleasure glazed eyes. “Why would I need armor?” It seems about as useful to him as a sword. Granted a werewolf is about as likely to survive getting stabbed in the chest as human is, and armor would stop that, but it's not like he could wear full plate day in, day out.

Leaning his head against the wall Jordan takes deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. “Appearances for the most part.” His heart returns to it's steady pace and while Peter usually enjoys revving it back up again, this time he decides to leave well enough alone. “Everyone here knows looks can be deceiving, but they still have expectations of how things should look.”

An idea Peter knows all to well. He gives a mock sigh of disappointment. “Aright, fine. We'll go see a blacksmith about a superfluous suit of armor.”

Jordan darts in and gives him a heady kiss. “After that though we can come back and try and break the bed.”

Peter laughs.

—

Lydia's seen portrait halls before in museums, but none like this.

The nine portraits within are massive, stretching high up and dominating the hall, making it feel narrow and almost claustrophobic. All are eye catching in their own rights, and Lydia doesn't know where to look first. “Morana?”

“This way.” She begins walking down the hall and Lydia follows. They walk quickly, barely giving time for Lydia to actually look upon each, only glimpsing flashes: long blue hair, bright bloody eyes, serious expressions, rich clothing. “You may come back later if you wish, to fully see the rest of the Courts rulers, but this one you deserve to see first.” Morana comes to a stop, portraits flanking her on either side. One is of her, the other... “Your father, Hjörtur.”

The size of the painting gives a false impression of what his height might have been, but does nothing to disguise the fact that his build seems better suited to a football player than a king. His red hair—the same as Lydia's—flows over his shoulders in bright waves topped with a crown of golden icicles, and his clothes, in warm blues and purples, are from another age entirely. His pose is somewhere between rest and attention, relaxed, but with a hand on the elaborate looking hilt of a sword. In his other hand he holds a harp of some sort.

“He looks...” She wants to say 'not at all like I expected' except she'd never really giving _any_ sort of thought as to what her father might look like. Casting an eye on her mother she notices that Morana's features are almost _too_ still, making her wonder if there's a glamour covering her mother's face.

“Not as you expected,” there's a wry tone to Morana's voice. “I do believe nearly everyone was surprised when I accepted his suit. He'd made quite a few waves coming here instead of the summer court like the rest of his brethren. He once told me he'd experienced enough heat to last him a lifetime.” Her lips twitch, dispelling Lydia's thought that her mother had masked her face with a glamour. “That didn't stop him from complaining on occasion. 'Bellows!'” Morana's voice deepens slightly attempting to imitate a more masculine tone. “'If this place gets any colder I fear my blood will freeze right in my veins!'”

Lydia doesn't bother to hide the smile those words bring to her. “I appreciate you showing this to me.” She does, even if she'd never thought of her father, there's a relief in knowing him after a fashion.

“Think nothing of it dearest, you deserve more than this.” Her hand gestures at the painting. “But this is all I have to give. I have your father's things, if you would like to go through them at a later date.”

“I don't think I will.” She never knew her father, to her they'll just be _things._  It's her mother who's attached meaning and memories to them.

Morana nods as if she'd expected that answer. “We should continue on, there is one more place you need to see before we part ways.” With a flick of her wrist a door appears between her father's portrait and one of a willowy black woman. It opens to reveal yet another empty hallway.

As they begin to walk Lydia finds she's annoyed at that for some reason. “Why haven't we run into anyone?” She asks, you'd think with all the halls they'd been through there'd have been at least _one_ other person they'd encounter.

“Because I've been leading us down empty hallways. I wish for as few people as possible to know about you before I introduce you to the court tonight.”  _Oh_ , Lydia doesn’t quite know how to feel about that. She would’ve liked to have met other fae in potentially less stressful situations than dinner might be, but on the other hand she knows all about making entrances.

Wordlessly they reach the end of the hall, where a nondescript white door appears to loom, even though it couldn’t be much taller than her mother. Unlike with Cecilia’s door this one doesn’t open right away when mother puts her hand on it. When she pulls her hand away a red palm print remains behind. Eye-catching, until it fades into whatever material the door is made of. Ponderously slow the door opens revealing the start of a staircase that’s quickly consumed by darkness and bringing with it a blast of cold air. Lydia finds herself reminded of Walcott’s house, and hopes there’s not a farm of bodies in here too.

Morana begins to descend the stairs leading down, much more slow and measured than her earlier walking. Steeling herself Lydia follows, resting a hand against one of the cool walls to brace herself against. Once they’re both inside the door swings shut, leaving them in complete darkness. “Morana?” Lydia isn’t quite worried just yet, but she’s wondering if she has cause to.

“It’s alright Lydia,” she sounds as calm as always, and a faint light beings to emanate from her mother. It’s enough to see by, but not enough to properly light the stairwell. She continues down the stairs, forcing Lydia to catch up or be left in the darkness.

“Does it have to be so dark?” It doesn’t come out as much of a whine Lydia thought it might. Some of that strange, ambient fae lighting would be appreciated right now.

Her mother gives a sound that’s almost like laughter. “Yes, my dear it does. It’s a deterrent and safeguard, on the rare chance someone manages to find this place and get past the door.”

Lydia nearly asks what could be so important as to need all of that, but then there’s real light up ahead and they’re stepping into it and onto a platform carved from the wall. She hadn’t thought you could get a feeling of openness underground, but the strange cave-room—there really wasn’t a better word for it—proves her wrong. The small platform she and mother come out on is somewhere in the middle, height wise, of the cavern. Everything is lit by a faint white glow but when she looks up the glow eventually fade away to darkness, though there are still faint star-like lights up there.

“Glow worms,” Morana answers before she can even ask. Though they're clearly not like any glow worms Lydia's ever encountered if they're making _this_ much light.

It’s also _cold_ in here, the cold of a walk in freezer, and Lydia, dressed as she is for summer, finds herself chaffing her arms.

Hearing the sound of running water, though how there could be running water in a place this cold she can’t fathom, she looks down towards the sound. Gasps. A pool of water, sits at the very bottom of the cavern, the running water sound coming from the small waterfall that feeds it. Surrounding the pool is a good amount of snow covered ground, enough that there are _trees_ and _plants_ _—_ though like the running water she has no idea as to the 'how'—growing. Overall it projects a feeling of serenity, a place you could escape to and not be bothered.

“‘Only to come here and look on the pool bears the penalty of death.’” Lydia finds herself quoting.

Mother gives a soft laugh. “Indeed. Tolkien was fairly astute in that respect.”

The fact that she recognized the quote surprises Lydia. “You’ve read _Lord of the Rings_?”

“A bit more than that. Asha and I squabbled over Tolkien like hens after corn. The last joke was on us though, I became a man and she was turned white.” Lydia’s long since grown to appreciate Winter’s bluntness, which can hid more tricks than you would think possible. “His words, in this case are true. None may be here save you and I, and any children you might have in the future. This is the Heart of Winter and it is for no eyes but ours.” Morana gestures to the stairs leading down. “I will leave you now, but you must bathe in the waters, let them know you and touch you.” She manages to surprise Lydia by pulling her into a hug, the fabric of Morana’s dress is soft against Lydia’s cheek and she lets her mother hold her.

Just as quickly as the hug began it’s done and Morana turns to leave, but Lydia speaks before she can step back into the tunnel. “How am I going to find my way back?” The Mound is still a maze to her and it doesn’t seem right that a princess should get lost.

Looking over her shoulder Morana gives her a secret, conspiratorial smile. “You’ll know the way.” With that she leaves.

With a vaguely annoyed sigh Lydia begins descending the steps, the farther down she goes the colder it becomes, and Lydia wishes she had a parka; and feels desperately grateful that she can’t slip on ice. Once on the ground the snow supports her weight where it once would've given way, so she leaves no footprints as she walks to the pool. It gets colder and colder; Lydia wonders if she’ll ever be truly warm again. She’s long since stopped shivering and if she were human Lydia would be panicking.

Now standing at the edge of the pool she stares down into it, marveling at how it manages to be dark _and_ clear at the same time.

She raises a foot to step into the pool, but stops herself, feeling like there’s something else she needs to do first. Moments later it comes to her as a flash of insight, she needs to be naked. Gods that’s terrifying, because that’s exactly what people in the last stage of hypothermia do and she does _not_ want to die.

It’s with great reluctance, and lots of faith, that she strips. Deciding to get it over with in one fell swoop, the pool is certainly deep enough for it, she takes a deep breath and dives in.

Only to have that deep breath punched out of her by the sheer shock of _cold_. By rights this water should be frozen solid it’s so cold, yet here she is in the middle of it trying not to open her mouth and breathe water as well as trying to swim to the surface. The surface doesn’t seem to be getting any closer and finally Lydia feels herself giving in and lets the water have her. Somehow the world around her sighs, and the next thing she knows she’s lying on the bank of the pool, perfectly dry and not at all cold. In a haze she dresses, but eschews her shoes—so she can feel the land beneath her—and ascends the steps. Once at the mouth of the other stairs she heads up, only wanting to go back to their room, curl up and sleep.

Like the coldness of the water it’s a shock to realize that she knows _exactly_ how to get from the Heart to their room. As an experiment she thinks about going to the kitchens, and just like that she knows how to get from here to there. No matter where she thinks of to go she knows the way. _Guess that’s what mother meant by ‘knowing the way’_ , she thinks ruefully as she starts walking towards their rooms. She could sleep for a _year._

She'd like to say she admired the tapestry on the walls and the painting that dominates the bedroom, but she finds herself far more concerned with the empty bed. Barely sparing the energy it took to shimmy out of her dress she falls into bed. Absently hoping Peter and Jordan return soon from whatever it might have been that they're doing, two warm bodies against hers sounds just right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: dinner, politics, banshee 101, and something finally comes to light.


	29. Chapter 29

Jordan hates to wake Lydia, but it will be dinner soon, and he knows she’ll want every second she can get to prepare herself. So while Peter sets the package that’d been sitting outside the front door on the desk and then goes to start unpacking his own suitcase, Jordan steps over to the bed. He smiles softly to see Lydia curled up in the middle, her dark orange lingerie popping against the plain white sheets. Leaning down he reaches out and gives her shoulder a small shake. “Lydia, you need to wake up.”

For a brief second she burrows deeper into the comforter, as if trying to escape him, but her eyes flutter open and she blinks up at him. “Jordan?” Her sleep-addled voice is a punch to his libido, but he can damn well control himself. “What time is it?”

“About four thirty.” Maybe he should see about getting a clock. He’s never needed one in the Mound, but without their phones Peter and Lydia are a bit helpless.

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes Lydia sits up. “Feels later than that.” Her eyes fall on the package. “For me?”

“Most likely.” It's not like he's expecting anything, and he couldn't convince Peter to got to a tailor—strange considering he'd thought Peter would jump at the chance for handmade clothing.

Peter sighs as she stands. “We should've tried to come back sooner,” he grouses.

Lydia laughs, putting a little extra bounce in her step as she strides over to the desk. “I'd think we'd have plenty of time for sex and whatever else after dinner.” She doesn't exactly tear into the box, but she lifts the lid quickly.

“Is there anything we should know going in?” Peter asks as he beings undressing.

Jordan should probably be doing the same, his clothing is probably a bit more elaborate than Peter's; even if tonight's dinner isn't formal enough to warrant his armor. “I'm not sure.” There are probably hundreds of little things they should both know, but they're so ingrained into him that he doesn't know what to say. “Dinner tonight won't be as formal as the one on the Solstice, and by then you should know more.”

He starts to continue, except Lydia gasps softly, drawing his and Peter's attention. In her hands she's holding a dress. The fabric's a deep, dark blue with eye catching sparkles that flicker in the light; it reminds him of the night sky and he wonders what constellations he'd find in it if he looked close enough.

“It's lovely,” Peter says, breaking the small silence that had formed.

Lydia smiles. “Yes it is. Though,” she makes a face. “It came with a petticoat. I haven't worn anything like that since I was six and deep in my Disney princess phase.”

Even Jordan smiles at that. “Do you need help with it?” The particulars of women's fashion are probably beyond him. He'd survived enough strange clothing throughout the centuries to at least be of _some_ help.

“No.” She lays the dress out on the bed and goes to pull the indigo petticoat out of the box. It looks shorter than he'd thought it would—though to be fair the skirt of the dress isn't all that long itself. She hangs it off the desk chair and reaches into the box once more, this time pulling out something thin, pale, and gauzy that, after she unwinds them, Jordan realizes are stockings.

Even though he's seen her dress dozens of times, somehow this time is different, a quick glance tells him Peter's staring too. They watch as she pulls on each stocking—it's not much of a surprise to realize he's hard—then picks up the petticoat again and steps into it. “You know,” her voice makes the both of them jump. “Strip teases are usually done in reverse.”

“It's hypnotizing to watch you do anything sweetheart.” Peter gives her a lascivious smile.

Jordan's glad he didn't say anything when Lydia throws the box lid at Peter as she rolls her eyes. “For that the both of you have to help me into this dress.”

Gladly Peter steps up, half dressed in nice slack and still open dark red button up, but for Jordan. “What'd I do? I didn't say anything?”

“You probably thought it though.” She points at the ground in front of her. Shouldn't be all that intimidating in black stockings, petticoat, and dark orange bra, but she is. Jordan gets. “Gather up the skirt then pull it up over my head.”

He and Peter share a look, then in unison say “yes, mistress.” They pass her to reach the bed.

When they turn around, dress in hands, she's smirking and out of the corner of his eye he can see Peter's nostrils flare. “I want you to do that again,” she sighs as she lifts her arms above her head. “But we don't have time for sex,” now she sounds about as sad about that fact as Peter did earlier.

“See what I mean?” Peter commiserates as they lower the dress onto her. Once it's fully on they let go, Peter steps away completely returning to getting himself ready. Jordan will too, but first he just wants to see. The neckline of the dress dips just enough to give a tease of cleavage, the spangly fabric clings to her every curve, and stars above if she's beautiful now then how devastating will she be once she's finished getting ready?

“You're drooling,” Lydia teases as she adjusts the dress.

He blushes as he snaps his mouth shut, only to open it again. “I'm just, I'm going to be.” He retreats to his own wardrobe, giving Peter a hard smack on the shoulder for laughing at him. Getting out of his jeans and t-shirt is easy enough. Peter 'bumps' into him as he, now completely dressed, saunters over to the bed and flops onto it. “Aren't you worried about wrinkles?” Jordan opens his wardrobe and just stares at his clothes, compared to Lydia and Peter his clothes are so very old fashioned; and it feels, well, a little embarrassing.  _Tomorrow,_ he resolves, _I'm dragging Peter to the tailor and we're_ both _getting clothes_.

When Lydia passes him to grab her makeup and toiletries bag she has a determined expression on her face. Reaching out he lightly grabs her wrist. “You alright?” She has every right to be worried about tonight but he doesn't like to see her work herself into more stress.

She exhales gustily and Jordan can tell Peter's paying attention from his spot lounging on the bed. “I'm...” she grimaces, having clearly wanted to lie and reassure them. “I'm freaking out, a little,” she amends. “I keep trying to trick myself into thinking this will be just like high school, except it won't be, and I shouldn't want to delude myself like that.”

In a flash Peter's next to her and scooping her up, lifting her to nuzzle her face. “Peter, you're going to ruin the dress.” There's a note of warning in her tone. Jordan's certain it's not the dress she's worried about.

“Tell me to put you down and I'll put you down. I think you need this more than a perfect dress. Anyways.” Peter gives a brief smile. “It might do some good for us to be fashionably late.”

It startles a laugh out of Lydia, which is a relief to Jordan. Abandoning his own clothing he goes over to them both and wraps his arms around Peter, enclosing Lydia between them. “We'll be there to help you whenever you want us to. So will your mother. You're not alone in this.”

If her laughter was a relief then her wrapping an arm around each of their necks feels utterly relaxing. “Thank you. It's just...picking people who'll stay by me for the rest of my life? It's daunting.”

Nearly as one he and Peter lean in and kiss her cheeks. “Trust your instincts,” Jordan tells her.

“You're a genius, Lydia.” Peter smiles. “Before you know it you'll have everyone here wrapped around your finger.”

Her smile is softer this time. “Now put me down please, I want to finish getting ready.” Jordan steps back to his clothes and Peter sets Lydia down. In front of her still unpacked suitcase she crouches down, only to quickly rise up again, makeup bag in hand. “Bathroom?” She points at the door next to his Church painting with an arched eyebrow.

He nods, but instead of leaving him, she steps up right next to him and peers at his hangers of clothes. He fights not to blush. “Pick something dark purple.” She suggests. “Simple lines.”

He smiles at her. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” she rises up to her tip toes and kisses his chin. “You'd better be dressed by the time I get out,” she warns.

“Or else what?” he asks her back as she heads to the bathroom.

“Or else I'll blindfold you while Peter and I have sex,” she calls over her shoulder.

It punches a groan out of him, and his hard on comes back with a vengeance. “Not fair,” he calls out as she closes the bathroom door behind her.

“Of course not,” Peter says right behind him. Peter's done it to Jordan so much over the past few months that he barely even jumps now. “Do you want some help?”

For a brief second Jordan thinks Peter's talking about his cock, which he would heartily say yes to usually. This time he's pretty sure getting a handjob would take longer than Lydia's hair and makeup. “No thanks,” he'll suffer though.

Peter huffs. “I meant with picking out clothes. Lydia's suggestions were a bit, broad.”

Jordan bangs his head lightly against the oak frame. “Oh, yes.” He's never been as fashion conscious as his two lovers. Always just wearing whatever his tailor made him, but now he wants to look like he belongs at Lydia's side, with Peter next to him. It's a bit surprising how perfunctory Peter is in picking out clothes—then again they're on a bit of a time limit—for him. He's dressed in a dark gray pant and jacket, with a waistcoat Peter assures him is deep plum—but looks black to him—and off white button up by the time Lydia walks out of the bathroom.

He and Peter are going to catch flies if they're not careful. Lydia just gives them an affectionate smile and does a little turn. “Do I look the part?”

Peter steps up to her and taking her hands in his has her do another turn. “Flawlessly.”

“Well,” the two of them turn to look at him and Jordan tilts his chin up a smidge. He gestures up to her head, where her hair's been braided and piled up. Won't Peter enjoy taking that down when the night's done? “Missing something important I think.”

“Oh.” Lydia frees her hands from Peter and returns to her suitcase, extracting a narrow box. Jordan's sure if it weren't for him she'd have forgotten it in Beacon Hills. He doesn't understand what it is about her crown that frightens, which isn't the best word for it but he can't come up with anything better, her.

Once it's on her head she truly does look like she stepped straight out of a fairy tale. She goes back to the box, pulling out high heels and some more jewelry. As she finishes slipping on her shoes Jordan goes up to her and offers her his arm. “May I have the pleasure?”

The gold torque on her arm glitters as she slides her hand into the crook of his elbow. “You may.” Her eyes glitter. “You look quite dashing yourself.”

“Peter's the one who picked them out,” he says as the other man in question goes to Lydia's other side and offers her his arm as well.

“Jordan looked a bit lost, staring at all his clothes. I threw him a bone.” Over Lydia's head Peter smiles at him.

Lydia takes his arm. “How very nice of you Peter.” It sounds only half sarcastic. “Now we should probably go. Before I give into the urge to drag you both back to bed for well dressed sex.”

Jordan's certain his swallow's audible to Lydia, but he manages to cover his blush in glamour. Since he's the only one who knows his way around, except Lydia's leading them out before he can even finish that thought. Out in the hallway he's reminded that his chambers are now only a few rooms down from the queen's own, and he finds himself both pleased and embarrassed by it. Though he highly doubts whomever he supplanted feels the same. Here's hoping they never meet.

“This way,” Lydia declares as she leads them left.

“How do you know?” Jordan's own mental map'd been built from over centuries of experience; yet he finds himself oddly jealous of Lydia's sudden knowledge.

They all turn right. “Something my mother had me do,” she says.

“How very vague,” Peter drawls.

Lydia sniffs haughtily. “An unsolved mystery will do you good Peter.”

Peter pouts, or it looks like a pout to Jordan, but doesn't say anything more. Jordan hadn't been lying to Peter when he'd said it felt good to be home. Here, this close to the very soul of himself, feels almost alien after being apart for nearly twenty years. It's also something of a relief as well. It's starting to make him realize that he'd never thought of showing Lydia and Peter what he really is—thought to call this part of him 'false' would be wrong. Now that they're here it feels inescapable. He's a fool for not telling them about it sooner.

No use crying over spilled milk, maybe tonight they'll have enough breathing room to breach the subject. He resolves to do it, and soon.

Morana is there waiting for them by the huge doors that open to the dining hall. Letting go of Lydia Jordan bows. Glad he doesn't have to figure out a way to gesture to Peter to do the same. As the both of them rise up Morana inclines her head slightly. “I will enter first, then you three follow a few steps behind. We will be served first, and.” She glances at Lydia and Peter. “You are welcome to whatever might catch your fancy.” Her gaze fixes firmly on Lydia. “Ask questions if you need to, unless someone approaches or you speak up no one will be able to hear us at my table.”

She turns and the doors, carved with a harvest scene, begin to open. Nearly in sync he and Peter offer up elbows again, and with grace Lydia takes them. “Chin up,” he whispers. “Look straight ahead.” Even if Lydia already knows that, it's never bad to have a reminder.

“Walk with purpose,” Peter murmurs as they step into the dining hall.

—

The sheer number of...beings, because not all of them look humanoid, in the room takes Lydia aback. It's a veritable sea bodies, and she actually feels a little fear. Sure she's used to manipulating people, even without glamour, but those were humans and well...she's not sure how things will go. Then again, she doesn't think Morana would throw her to the wolves like that, this _is_ only her first experience in the Court.

Her grip on Peter and Jordan's arms tightens as they follow Morana deeper into the rapidly parting mass. Yet all eyes are on them. A sensation Lydia should be used to, except that usually the eyes on her are those of teenagers with far lower IQs than hers who know full well she's the head of the pack. This, this is not the same thing at all. Ignoring the hoard of fae around them she instead focuses on the...throne room? Dining hall? Did it matter?

Massive statues, of ice she realizes, fill the space not taken up by tables, or in some cases even in the same space. Tables sitting on and surrounded by icy trees or animals or even buildings. Flowers carved from ice are scattered everywhere, catching the ever constant light and glittering rainbows. She finds it excessively breathtaking, and she finds herself leaning towards Jordan. “Who did all this?”

“Your mother,” he answers. “The throne room is even more awe-inspiring.” That kind of answered one question.

The make it through the crowd and ascended a short flight of steps onto a raised dais, with yet another table upon it. It's easy enough to tell which seat is her mothers: the intricately carved silver wood one, but beyond that she's unsure.

“Jordan?” She whispers, while outside the Mound it felt strange to call him Erwann, in it the reverse it true, as if calling him 'Jordan' is an affront of some sort. He squeezes her hand lightly, but then extracts his arm.

“Don't worry, you'll be alright.” He goes over to Morana and pulls out the throne for her.

Lydia shifts closer to Peter. “What about you?”

“There are far too many scents, and my senses have gone a little haywire.” The both of them watch as Morana sits and Jordan pushes the chair in. “Otherwise _wonderful_.” She resists the urge to roll her eyes and instead rubs her free hand against the back of his neck. He leans into the touch enough that she finds herself relaxing. The scrape of another chair being pulled out bursts their little bubble and Lydia looks over to see Jordan's pulled out the chair to the left of Morana.

“I believe that's our cue sweetheart.” With all eyes on them Peter leads her to the chair, and as gracefully as she can she sits, just managing to hold in her start of surprise when Jordan pushes her own chair in. The table has a skirt in the front and she doesn't have to worry about flashing anyone. It's going to take some getting used to, wearing petticoats.

Jordan and Peter take a few steps further to the left, to the two other chairs. “Are you going to pull my chair out too?” Peter teases quietly.

Jordan gives a huff of laughter. “If you want me to,” he replies with a smile. He tugs out the seat next to her and moves to sit, leaving Peter the far chair.

“Why?” She asks as Jordan sits, hopefully she doesn't need to elaborate. All these eyes on her make her more anxious than she thought they would.

He tugs his chair in and takes his napkin. “Because Peter doesn't yet hold a rank,” he murmurs. Lydia understands that, but she doesn't like it. She'd think just by virtue of being her lover it would confer _some_ sort of rank upon him.

“It's alright Lydia.” She almost misses Peter's words in the general noise of the room.

Before she has a chance to tell them that no, it _i_ _sn't_ alright, Morana stands and claps her hands. Two or three seconds later the entire room is silent; which is both awe-inspiring and kind of disturbing. “Today my folk, is a day we shall remember and celebrate for years to come.” As she spoke people began filing towards seats, if there was a pattern to it, it was such that Lydia couldn't discern it. They did it all in silence. “We shall feast and drink until even the greatest glutton finds themselves full. Leave your sadness, your jealousy, your anger, behind for the night. Live fully in the land of pleasures and contentment. For tonight my daughter, my dearest flower, has returned home.” Those words broke the silence of the Court. Any and all whispers quickly died out under Morana's gaze.

Morana didn't speak again until everyone, except for those Lydia could just barely make out standing against the walls, are seated. “Already she is rich in power”—Lydia hopes no one's close enough to notice her blush—“and now seeks to find her place among us.” Despite her embarrassment Lydia finds she can't take her eyes off her mother. It isn't hard to see why she's queen at a time like this. Even captivated as she is, the still empty chair to her mother's right manages to draw her thoughts. Who is it for?

“Share in my joy my court, and let us celebrate.” Once again she claps her hands, then sits. Those that had been standing against the walls begin filling in, some bearing pitchers, others disappeared briefly, only to return with platters of food. All of them filing towards their table.

Recalling Morana's words that no one could hear them up here she leans towards Jordan. “What's in the pitchers?” Better to know ahead of time, then guess and have something she didn't like.

He shrugs. “A little bit of everything, water, wines, ciders, mead, beers. Though be careful our brewing tends to make drinks more potent.” He cast a sidelong look at Peter. “Potent enough even to make Peter drunk.”

“Is that a challenge?” Peter leans towards Jordan enough that Lydia can see his raised eyebrow. “Because now I feel I've got to try some. Getting drunk will be a new experience.” He smiles.

Lydia laughs, though it's soon interrupted by an insistent: “Your Highness.”

Across the table stands a willowy looking man. “Water Your Highness?”

“Yes please, but just half a glass.” He pours gracefully.

Jordan gets a full glass when the server moves onto him, and Peter abstains completely. By the time servers start offering them food she's filled the rest of her glass with a sweet and fruity Riesling that makes the back of her throat tingle, while Peter gets a dry apple cider. The stream of food seems never ending, though she still somehow manages to eat in between being offered more food. She, Jordan, and Peter even manage to share food. She didn't realize how freeing it would feel to not even wonder what everyone in the room might think of them.

Now that they're eating it's harder for Lydia not to notice the empty seat on Morana's other side. A few more bites of the heavenly meat pie she's currently eating and she's worked up enough courage to ask about it. “Who's seat is that?” She doesn't think it's some sort of memorial seat for her father, that would look different she's somehow sure, but she could be wrong.

Morana finishes off her own bite of food before sighing softly. “That is for Danu, whom I took in when her court fell. But not once has she left her quarters since she took them. I dare say it's my own insanity, always having it, hoping one day she'll begin to move past her grief.”

The name niggles in Lydia's head, she's heard it somewhere before; it's important, she just know it. “Which court?” She recalls there are four 'fallen' courts, though she can't recall of Jordan actually told her of any others besides Danu.

“Water,” her mother answers. “You should seek her out, though she might not receive you, she is a banshee like yourself.”

 _Oh_ , that's right. Jordan had spoken about her and what happened to her court at the lake house, when she'd gone through Meredith's things. A pang of sadness passes through her at the thought of the girl she'd replaced; Lydia's been so wrapped up in her own problems she hadn't even thought once about her. _I'll do better_ , she promises herself. When they get back to Beacon Hills she'll go visit, tell Meredith all about the trip.

Eventually the stream of food dries up, and the servers start to take everyone's plates away.

“I thought you had said there would be food and drink until we couldn't eat anymore, Your Majesty?” If Lydia didn't know any better she'd think Peter was being pert.

Morana cast him an amused look. “If you find yourself still hungry Peter, then you need not worry, this was only the formal dinner, there will be a more informal one already starting in another hall.” At that Peter actually looks a little green and Lydia can't help but smile. He shouldn't have spoken so soon, because there are new tables being set up in some of the empty spaces, these ones piled high with all manner of deserts. Even though she feels like she can't eat another bite her mouth waters at the thought of so many sweets.

Mother stands. “Now feel free to mingle Lydia, speak with anyone who approaches you or catches your eye. Let them know you. Keep in mind the qualities you might wish of someone in your retinue.” With a faint smile she leaves them and descends into the milling mass.

Peter's there pulling out her chair before Jordan even scoots his own out. “It's only fair,” Peter teases.

Jordan rolls his eyes, and once more offers her an arm. “It's not like there's anyone keeping score Peter.”

Which earns Jordan a scoff. “Of course there's not, but fair's fair.” Together they descend the stairs themselves.

“If you'd like I can drop you two off in a dark corner,” Lydia says before they can get too much further. Granted she'd like to take up her own offer. She's more than happy to let Jordan lead them around this time.

Until an eight foot tall man in a bloody-red cap approaches and slaps Jordan on the back, sending all three of them stumbling, though Peter acts as enough of a counter balance that none of them fall, thank heavens. “Erwann! You sly dog! Snatching up the princess before any of us could.” He bows low, sweeping his cap off in a gesture straight out of a movie or play. As he does so it's hard not to notice there's a red liquid seeping from his hat, leaving a spray on the ground. “Your Highness, it is a deep honor to meet you.”

Slipping her arms free she manages as good a curtsy as she can. “I say the same of you...” She sends a significant look to Jordan.

“Sir Diarmaid, one of my fellow knights.” He says without missing a beat. “Diarmaid, this is the princess Lydia, and Peter Hale.”

Diarmaid straightens, and gives them a needle-toothed smile. “Says the man a cut above the rest of us. But say, what have you been up to these past two decades, nary a peep. Made Mannes think he had a chance at your spot, you did.”

Jordan gives an amused smile. “That's his fault then for thinking that.” He tilts his head at the both of them. “You two can go on, I'll catch up when we're done.”

“If you can find us,” Peter says. “A veritable sea here.”

Which gets a laugh out of Diarmaid. “Oh Erwann will find you, he always manages to find what he is looking for one way or another.”

Sharing a look with Peter the two of them link arms once more and continue on. As they pass a sweets table Lydia find she can't resist and drags Peter to it, he groans softly. “How can you think of eating again? I might not eat for the whole rest of the week.”

“It's just _one_ dessert Peter.” Mentally she's agrees with him. Anything greater than say, a cookie, would probably be too much for her poor stomach. She picks up one of the tiny china plates on the table then takes a chocolate dipped madeleine.

“Says you,” He's smiling though. “Knowing your sweet tooth 'one' dessert's liable to turn into twenty.”

She jabs him with her elbow. “Cheeky. I'd rather not explode in any fashion thank you very much.” Peter looks like he's about to reply with something witty, but then he stops. His nose flares and his eyes glance around. “What?” She finds herself tensing, though she has no idea if what Peter's sensing is actually a threat or not.

“Just something...” He shakes her hand free of his elbow. “I'm going to go investigate. Will you be alright on your own?”

Lydia nods. “Yes.”

He dives down and kisses her cheek. “Hopefully it won't take long.”

She manages to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “I'm not going to vanish into thin air if you're gone longer then ten minutes Peter, and I'm not going to demand you be back as soon as you can either.”

“I'm still going to worry, I don't know this place or these people.”

It's understandable that he's worried, she just wishes it didn't make him wary. She can't exactly get to know these people if he's heading them all off at the pass. “Go on, see what that scent is. I'll be fine.” Her words earn her a twitch of a smile, then he's gone. Deliberately she leaves the dessert table, if she's not there it can't tempt her, and begins to nibble on her madeleine. As she wanders conversations die around her, everyone turning to look at her and bowing or curtsying. No one's actually approached her to speak with her. _I thought you said 'many' of the court would want to talk to me mother?_

Granted it gives her an opportunity to observe those around her. For the most part all she can see are humanoid figures, but not always the case. Like the muddy and wet looking horse she'd just passed talking animatedly with what might have been a satyr. Beyond that though there's such variety: 'normal' skin colors ranging from white to black and every shade in between, then those who's coloration are nowhere near normal. Two girls with skin like peacock feathers, an androgynous being with real golden skin, a giant, shaggy haired being she's pretty sure is a bigfoot, and on and on.

“Your Highness,” a woman's voice, deep and smokey, behind her draws her from her gaping and Lydia turns. The woman is tall, and well muscled—a fact highlighted by her only wearing what looks like black tights and matching sports bra—her olive skin and slitted golden brown eyes shine in the strange light of the Mound, and she's completely hairless. In fact where she should have hair there are patches of shimmering green-white scales. _Woah_. She smiles, showing off far more sharp teeth than even Peter has. “Hello.” That looked like a hint of forked tongue...

“Hello.” She will _not_ say 'uh'. “I'm Lydia.”

Somehow the woman's smile grows even more. “Indeed. You may call me Vee. It is a great pleasure to meet you Your Highness.”

Lydia's fairly certain there's a bit of a trap in that. This is familiar enough that she manages to find her footing. “Your appreciation is welcome Vee. I'm glad to meet you as well.” Lydia's actually a little surprised at herself and her wording, maybe just being in the Mound makes you more archaic. Vee laughs, a thin stream of smoke leaving her mouth, _holy shit is she talking to a_ dragon? It's probably rude to ask a question like that out of the blue like that, even with Lydia having the 'excuse' of being inexperienced.

“I like clever girls.” Somehow Vee manages to make that not sound creepy and weird. “It has not escaped my notice that no one has yet to approach you,”—Lydia glamours her face to hide her flush of embarrassment—“well, except for Sir Diarmaid, but that man has no political aspirations at all. An oversight on their parts I dare say.” She bows, with as much elegance as Diarmaid had earlier. “So then, let me be the first to throw my hat into the ring, as it were.” Rising she smiles again. “I can be quite clever when the occasion calls for it and I am an excellent fighter if need be. I currently hold no employment, but am quite good with accounts and cooking.”

All that information at once is a bit much, but she manages a smile as she lets her glamour fade away. “Well then, Vee. If I am to consider you then there should be honesty between us.”

Graciously Vee inclines her head. “Of course.”

Lydia took a deep breath, then went for it. “Are there any other names you bear besides 'Vee'?” She knows 'true names' don't have power the way they seem to do in a lot of fantasy novels, but it's still an important question for Lydia.

“I was named Envy at birth, and have been known to exemplify that trait from time to time. Though it is a good one for such as myself to have.”

Which is as good a segue into Lydia's next question as any. “And, what exactly _is_ one such as yourself?” The next chance she gets she's going to corner Morana and ask what's the tactful way of asking what someone's species, kind—whatever the correct term was—is.

“I am a dragon, a child of fire and gold.” Almost as if she's showing off Vee emits a small gout of white-green flames.

Lydia had been right about that. “What is a dragon doing here in the Winter Court? I would think it far too cold.” Then again her father had been Fire Court and been perfectly happy here.

Vee gave a wan smile. “When dragons reach a certain age we gain the ability to create a human shell,” she gestured at her body. “Once we choose an appearance we cannot change it, and there are always certain expectations depending on your clan as to your form.” Lydia feels she had a good idea were this might be going, but keeps quiet. This is far more than she'd expected for an explanation, she'd thought she'd just be getting something cryptic but technically true. “My day came and there were the usual celebrations. Then when the time came I did the unexpected. See I had thought long and hard like many of my fellow hatchlings on what I would look like, but I had come to the idea that life as a human male would be much as that of a male dragon, and I found that idea uninteresting. So instead I chose the form you see now before you.” She shrugs. “While there are no rules against it, my parents were not exactly pleased, and I decided a life of Winter couldn't be worse than the cold-shoulders of dragons.”

“You honor me with your story.” She even gives Vee a _very_ shallow curtsy. All of the information though she files away to think more on later, when she's got more time to consider. Right now if Vee's approach opens the floodgates of people then all she can really do is listen to them and ask a few questions.

Vee demures. “It is nothing, Your Highness. My reasons for coming here are not much of a secret to either court.” Then she bows again. “Now if you will excuse me Your Highness, I do believe the nearest dessert table is calling my name.”

Lydia smiles and gives an assenting wave. “I hope we meet again in the near future.”

“I'll bet my favorite coin on it Your Highness.” With a spin Vee walks off, forcing people to part before her or get bumped into.

Contemplatively Lydia takes another small bite of her cookie and begins to wander again. Wondering what new experience the next encounter might bring.

—

Peter hadn’t thought he’d find other werewolves here—granted the ‘were’ portion is highly debatable—and yet there he is, walking away from a pack of them. Obliquely though, making sure he can keep an eye on them while he does so. Both out of respect and prudence. “ _We do not follow Alphas as you do kith,”_ their spokeswoman had explained. “ _W_ _hen you have prey too large for just yourself we may gladly follow you to share in the kill and feast.”_

They’d been...strange, far closer to true wolves than than any werewolf he’d ever known. Hungry eyed, winter-lean despite the glut of food around them. Some of that hunger must have rubbed off on him though because he finds himself heading to the nearest desert table and gobbling down a few apple slices. “ _If you wish it we shall introduce you to our summer kin on Solstice. They would be curious to meet one such as you.”_ He finds himself unsure on whether or not he’ll take them up on that offer.

Meeting them hasn’t made of mess of him, but he does find himself more unsettled than he’d expected to be. Exhaling he finds himself relaxing. He finds himself tapping their link briefly to find Lydia—there are far too many scents in here for him to pick through in a speedy enough fashion to make that a good option. Once he’s laid eyes on her he finds it hard to look away. Whatever fear she might be feeling from earlier is expertly hidden, and she looks every inch a royal. It’s breathtaking, to be honest, how humble that makes him feel. And yet proud that she chose _him_ , before even choosing Jordan.

Managing to tear his gaze away he inspects the woman she’s talking with. He’s not close enough to get any sort of detail beyond bald, olive-skinned, and wearing black. What little body language he can read off Lydia she seems interested enough. He starts to make his way towards them when a now familiar voice stops him. “I see it has begun.” Over the course of his life Peter has gotten very good at acting less surprised or scared than he actually is. Which means while Morana's sudden appearance next to him makes him internally jump and his wolf snarl, externally all he does is turn slightly an arch an eyebrow.

“What would that be?” He feels like he might be in need of more of a crash course than Lydia about how the Court works, and not only to make sure he doesn't commit any unforgivable faux-pas. In fact: “Your Majesty.” He managed to remember. He might be with Lydia, but from what he got from the brief conversation he and Jordan had at the smithy since he hasn't been officially 'presented' he didn't hold much in the way of rank, so respect is key. Especially with his own current Omega status—even as an Alpha though Morana would seriously outrank him.

Faintly a smile twitches at her lips. “Vying for placement in Lydia's retinue, the quicker you are claimed the higher your influence and...'rank'.” She gives him a sidelong look. “Though none will hold higher rank than you or Jordan being her consorts.” He finds it strange that she doesn't seem to find their relationship strange.

Though from what Jordan's implied she's far older than even Jordan himself, and has probably seen every type of relationship under the sun. “I appreciate the knowledge.” Jordan had warned him before hand what a 'thank you' might get him, and him being indebted meant Lydia was indebted and Peter could imagine quite a few things he'd do if he had a princess in debt to him. “Should I be worried?” He knows full well Lydia can take care of herself in any social situation, but that doesn't mean he doesn't _care_.

Morana gives the most elegant shrug Peter has ever seen. “I do not foresee any problems, though it would not be unseemly if you or Jordan stepped in if someone got too... _enthusiastic_.” Always good to know he won't get in trouble for being aggressive towards anyone who threatens Lydia. “It is good practice for her on the whole. If she chooses wisely her retinue will remain her staunchest supporters until they pass on.” He wants to ask after Morana's own retinue, curious to know what sort of beings make up the inner circle of one of the most powerful fae, but he bites his tongue. Even if he asked, Morana might not tell him. Guarding that group more than an Alpha guarded their Emissary.

Lydia and the woman part ways, and Lydia begins to wander again. Though it isn’t long before she’s stopped by a ostentatious looking fellow in a golden cloak and hat straight out of a musketeer movie. It’s the sort of look that makes him wary, someone entitled enough to think that ‘no’ didn’t apply to them, and he nearly excuses himself to go and ‘intervene’.

Except next to him Morana’s shoulders are shaking with what has to be laughter. He doesn’t smell salt and anyways he can’t think of a reason she might be crying. “Your Majesty?”

Morana turns her face to him, her hazel eyes glittering brightly with mirth—and how has he not realized she and Lydia have the same eyes before? “Oh, I’m just amused with thinking how Lydia will deal with Myst. They can be very charming when they wish to be.”

Peter watches as Myst bows ostentatiously over Lydia’s hand, grinning when she laughs. “Should I be worried?” Already he can feel a trickle of jealousy, but if all Myst does is flirt then Peter will let them.

“No.” Morana shakes her head. “If Lydia says no they’ll back off. They prefer their partners to be wholly willing.” Which is reassurance enough for Peter, though as to interrupting it seems like he wasn’t the only one who had that idea. Because there’s Jordan, an all too pleasant smile directed at Myst. Now Peter finds he’s the one holding back amusement.

Though why he finds the fact Jordan’s being an actual gallant knight amusing is probably best kept to himself.

—

Erwann eventually pulls himself away from his fellow knights, though not before promising to meet up with them all again sometime soon. Even if it’s been a while it feels good to know none of the camaraderie’s dried up during his absence. Then again neither has the ribbing. “Don’t let those two wear you out Erwann,” Aurèle shouts as Erwann begins to walk off. “Hate for you to lose a bout because you’ve gone bow-legged.” Glad to know they’ve accepted his new situation. Didn’t hurt in their view that Lydia was the princess.

Rolling his eyes Erwann whirls around and gives a wide smile. “Why Aurèle I didn’t know you cared. How’s your own love life going?” The other knights chortle, and elbow Aurèle, who flips off Erwann. Still smiling he turns back around and begins searching for Lydia. Getting sidetracked every so often, by familiar faces calling out greetings.

In the end though he does find her again.

Being flirted with by Myst Goldentongue.

Erwann doesn’t exactly see red, because he knows Goldentongue enjoys flirting above all else. He’s none too pleased with the queen’s favorite spy being their usual rakish self with Lydia. Especially when the other being knew she was already taken. With ease he steps up to Lydia’s side. “Goldentongue.” Deliberately he threads an arm around Lydia’s waist. “It’s good to see you.”

“Erwann!” Goldentongue says it a little too loudly, playing at being at least tipsy. They stick a hand out almost like a challenge. Not that Erwann’s buying it. “So good to see you. Mortal world treating you well I hope?” They’d gone back to affecting a French accent Erwann notes absently.

He can be magnanimous enough to at least accept the hand. “Well enough,” he answers as they shake hands. He finds he's vaguely afraid Myst might be their usual 'gallant' self and kiss the back of _his_ hand. Which Lydia might not even question come to think of it.

Myst however only releases his hand with a smile, black eyes glittering. “Good, good. As I was just telling Her Highness here, she's every lucky woman to have snatched you up.”

Erwann doesn't bother to hide his blush. “You're too kind.” Not that the two of them parted on unfriendly terms. Myst always had their own reasons for doing things.

“Nonsense, you are the yardstick by which all other knights measure themselves by.”

Lydia laughs. “That's laying it on a bit thick don't you think?”

Myst clutched their chest. “Ah, my princess, you wound me.” Though the moment a noblewoman glides past they drop the charade. “Ah, dear Hyacinth! You are a sight for sore eyes.” Like that they're gone, leaving Lydia and Erwann alone.

“Jealous Jordan?” Lydia’s voice has a hint of teasing in it at least as she gestures to the arm still around her waist. “It’s not as if I couldn’t have handle them.”

“Only a little,” he assures. “The rest of it’s, well...” He really should have expected something like this to happen, even with as few lovers as he’d had.

Lydia arches an eyebrow. “What?”

“Myst and I were once together.” There, he'd said it.

Lydia gets a speculative look on her face. “Really? I wouldn't think you'd go for someone like that.”

He's pretty sure his ear are pink. “It kind of just happened. Neither of us had really intended to be together. We'd worked.” Though looking back it felt a little inevitable, what with the both of them being assigned to deal with the same problem, if from different angles.

Lydia looks like she's about to ask another question, but a familiar sushing sound reaches his ears and he's turning them around before she can even get out the first word. For a fae Aldans is even more unusual than most. It's in it's true form, and not the usual masculine glamour it prefers, meaning Lydia gapes a little. Granted seeing it for the first time is probably gape worthy.

Aldans is tall. It's body made completely of vines, they give the barest approximation of arms and legs, but were oddly made more detailed in the chest. It's head is is a carved pumpkin, the sharp triangular smile curves up well past it's triangle eyes and nose. The first scarecrow, if one is inclined to believe the tale.

Aldans is much more than that to Erwann. He bows sharp and shallow. “Grandfather.” At that single word he can feel Lydia start in surprise.

“Erwann,” it's voice is like the wind blowing through a corn field, and one that still manages to comfort him even after centuries of exposure.

To cover for the fact Lydia's still a little stunned Erwann begins the introductions. “Lydia this is Aldans. Aldans this is the princess Lydia.” He squeezes her side, hoping it's enough of a reminder.

She twitches but seems to back to herself at least. A second later she gives a small curtsy. “It's a pleasure to meet you Aldans.”

“You as well Your Highness. I am pleased you have returned to us happy and whole.” It gives a bow. “And you as well Erwann.” Despite no eyes in the traditional sense he knows Aldans attention is all on him. “I would hope we have time to converse while you are here.”

Part of Erwann wants to ask what for, but he can see Peter approaching and he decides to be more...circumspect. “I would like that.”

Peter stops next to him, a pat smile on his face. “Hello again, and who's this?”

“Aldans,” Lydia says before Erwann can. “Erwann's _grandfather_.” At that all Peter does is arch an eyebrow.

Despite the fact Aldans' face only has a smile Erwann can tell it's actually amused. “Since I have said my piece I shall leave you. I hope the rest of your evening is pleasant.”

“I hope so too, and wish the same to you.” Lydia sounds gracious, a far cry from her earlier gaping.

The second Aldans is eve remotely out of earshot Lydia and Peter turn on him. “Grandfather?”

“Any other family you'd like to tell us about?” Peter doesn't sound all that angry. Not that Lydia had, but she seemed more peeved.

“No.” Erwann looks them both in the eye—harder with their height differences. “Aldans isn't _really_ related to me, not in a biological sense. Grandfather's more a term of respect.” Aldans was the Progenitor's first attempt to recreate their dying species, it didn't hurt Erwann at all to be respectful. This isn't exactly how he intended to breach this subject, but he might as well run with it. “Look, I promise I'll explain it in more detail later alright? When we've got more time to just focus on it.” Here in the middle of a crowd where nearly all of them will want to talk to Lydia isn't the best place to be doing this. Even if about most of these people nearly know his whole story anyways.

Peter nods, but Lydia looks like she just might keep pressing, that is until someone else approaches the three of them.

When Lady Merryweather leaves, someone else takes her place. On and for a good two and a half hours. Though they only stop then because he and Peter started turning everyone away as they and Lydia begin making their way out. Lydia, at least, is exhausted; and Jordan wouldn't mind some sleep himself. Soon everyone starts getting the hint and no one pursues them into the hallway demanding Lydia speak with them. Together they make it to his, _their_ room. Lydia staggers away from the both of them towards the bathroom.

He and Peter undress in silence. He doesn't know about Peter but Jordan's trying to think of the best way to bring up his big 'secret' over breakfast tomorrow. As far as he knows there's nothing planned, so maybe he can take them to himself after they eat. He's never brought anyone to the cemetery before, none of the other fae liked going there and it felt to intimate a thing for what amounted to casual relationships. So he finds himself nervous.

Lydia exits the bathroom, crown, jewelry, and makeup off, her hair down but still wearing the dress. He and Peter help her out of it and Jordan hangs it in her wardrobe while she changes into something she can actually sleep in. The light dims around them as they all make their way to the bed. Erwann even manages to maneuver Peter so that Jordan's the one with his back to the door. No one should be able to get in unless he wanted them to, but better safe than sorry.

On her back Lydia lies between them, sleepy smile on her face. “Thank you, for being with me tonight.”

Peter leans his head down to kiss her temple. “Think nothing of it sweetheart, I found it very informative.”

Jordan-Erwann buries his face in Lydia's hair. “The first half of what he said,” he mumbles, letting his eyes close.

Lydia's soft laughter is the last thing he hears before he falls into sleep.

—

Lydia doesn't quite awake with a start but she does get pulled from a very pleasant sleep, sitting up she slips out from her spot behind Jordan, pads to the wardrobes—the light comes on just the barest amount to see by—and reaching into the first one she encounters she pulls out the first thing she touches. It's Peter's robe she realizes as she slips it on, but she's fine with that. Glancing behind her to make sure Peter and Jordan are still asleep, she leaves their quarters and for a few moments just stands in the hall. Then she takes a deep breath and thinks, _I want to find Danu's rooms._

She walks to the end of the hall and turns left. Her path leads her through galleries of statues and paintings, small gardens, and one abandoned dining hall. Finally she ends up in front of the plainest door she's seen yet in the Mound. For a whole minute—she counts—she stands in front of it, like the whorls and grain of the uncarved wood will give her the answers she wants. It won't, nerves tangling her insides she reaches out and knocks. The door opens shortly thereafter. _“If you meet you you'll understand why banshee's of legend are described the way they are._ ” Jordan's words from the lake house rise up in her mind and Lydia finds she does understand.

Danu's hair is ghostly pale blonde, falling well past her waist. Her black eyes don't stare through Lydia, but right into the very heart of her self, in slightly sunken features. Her skin is even paler than her hair and slightly sallow, making her look a little like a corpse. Everything's even more pronounced by the indigo dress-robe she's wearing. “You're late,” it's a reprimand Lydia certainly isn't expecting. Especially when it's spoken in a whisper-soft voice.

Crossing her arms Lydia stares Danu down, or she tries. “I didn't know I was expected.”

There's not really a change in Danu's expression, but Lydia can still somehow see a hint of amusement in it. “You're not the shy and retiring type. Considering who your parents are I think I would have been more surprised if you were.” Danu steps aside and motions Lydia inside.

The sitting room is just as solemn and austere as it's inhabitant. There's barely any decorations on the walls, and besides the two chairs in front of the dead fireplace the only other 'furniture' in the room is a short pillar with an urn of some sort sitting on top of it. Lydia finds it depressing—and eerily similar to Jordan's house in Beacon Hills—but it's not her room. She follows Danu over to the fireplace. “I have questions.”

Lydia feels strangely pleased that Danu rolls her eyes. “I should hope I have answers.”

A case of the nerves isn't going to stop Lydia, not when she might finally get answers. “Before...before I came here there was a girl. My...my changeling, somehow she stopped my scream, made it so I couldn't talk.” Out of everything that's what she wants answers too the most.

“So?” Danu sits in the plainer of the two chair, the wood inside the fireplace bursting into flames. She gestures to the seat across from her.

Lydia sits. “How did she do it?” Lydia understands that Meredith was a psychic and not really a banshee, but that doesn't explain why she could do what she did.

Danu leans a little closer. “How should I know?”

“It has to do with our powers right?” It's the only possible explanation Lydia's come up with so far.

The woman shrugs. “How should I know?” She repeats. “If you want to know the vagaries of psychotheurgy go find a psychotheurger. I am a banshee, ask me about death and I will answer as best I can.”

Lydia takes a deep breath to try and calm her frustration. “I, I don't understand _anything_ , I've been flying blind ever since I became aware of my powers and it's so frustrating. I just want some _control_.”

Danu gives a little nod. “Now that, that I can give you. Close your eyes.” The crackle and pop of the fire almost drowns out her voice. Lydia feels a little trepidation, but she does so. “Now take a deep breath, the deepest you can.” As far as lessons go, this one's definitely strange. “Now take in a little more air.” She does, though it almost hurts. “Now hold that breath, for as long as you can, then a little longer than that.”

Yeah, strange. She's not sure how holding her breath relates to accessing her banshee powers, but she does it. Does it until her lungs scream for air, and then holds a little longer. Finally though instinct kicks in and she exhales and inhales. Eyes flying open. “Why?”

“Close your eyes again,” despite being a whisper the words are a whip-like crack. Lydia wants to protest, but she still thinks Danu can help her, so she closes her eyes again. “Reach out, not with your hands, but with your mind, your powers. You do know how to do that right?” Danu continues before Lydia can snap a reply. “There's a coldness inside of you, it's not winter, it should be more obvious now, grab it.” It feels...numb more than cold...like when your fingers fall asleep. She does grab it, but it moves like non-newtonian fluids and more than half of it slithers out of her grasp.

“Now fan _that_ out, reach. Feel the dead around you, feel them shiver at your power. Now listen, not with your ears, hear the bones whisper secrets.”

For the briefest of seconds Lydia does, ' _watch them dance sweetly'_ , but then that too slithers away from her. “I...I can't.”

Danu's stare is almost blank. “You should, you _will_. You are the granddaughter of Death, blizzards and infernos rage in your veins. If there is a part of you that clings to humanity _kill it,_ it will do you no favors. Hold your breath and reach again.” Not sure if Danu's words are criticism or praise Lydia does.

Again it eventually escapes her grasp.

“Again,” for the first time a note of emotion creeps into Danu's voice.

Lydia grits her teeth, her brain not appreciating the repeated oxygen deprivation. “I'm _trying._ ”

“No,” and that is anger. “You are making _attempts_. _Do it_.”

She does her best to ignore the answering bloom of anger inside of her and tries again, only to once more fail. “It's not working.”

Which earns her a glare. “Then clearly you have come here to waste both of our times. I suggest you leave and do not return until you can actually do the work.”

Something in Lydia snaps and she lets herself scream, sends all that anger and frustration inside her towards Danu, let her see how _she_ feels.

An unimpressed eyebrow is arched. “Now stop that,” she says in a tone generally reserved for misbehaving children. It doesn't happen like it did with the Oni or Meredith, where it _stopped_ , this is more of a fading out, like the scream itself realizes how foolish it's being. Lydia doesn't know which is worse. “It seems I must apologize for my assumptions. I'd thought you'd already had your first death.” Danu straightens the fall of her dress.

Closing her eyes Lydia takes a few deep breaths to calm herself, _focus, ask the right question_. “What do you mean by 'assumptions'?”

Danu stands and steps over to the fireplace, for a moment her fingers trace one of the square spirals carved into the mantel. “You screamed...banshees who scream are...inexperienced, it usually means they haven't died and come back yet.”

“Haven't died?” Lydia won't fool herself into thinking 'death' means anything but dying, but _why_ it's important, _that's_ what's important.

“Yes, dying...focuses your powers, strengthens the connects with the dead. You die, then you get brought back, stronger than before. Banshees who haven't died need to scream to create that focus.”

“Died how?” Which feels like the next most important question, because they way Danu's talking about it sounds almost ritualistic.

She gets a shrug in response. “It is different for all of us.” As if she's restless Danu moves from the mantle to the pillar. “Manannán's first act as my husband was to drown me.” She says it so matter of factly that Lydia shivers, for a moment fearful of her own life. “It's an act of violence that should kill you but doesn't.”

That fear congeals into dread, and Lydia finds her mouth is moving before her brain. “Would being attacked by a werewolf count?” Most of her is praying that it doesn't, that the reason she doesn't have as much control as Danu thinks she should _is_ because she hasn't died.

For the next minute the only sounds in the room is the crackle of fire and the click of Danu's nails against the stone of the pillar. The more time that passes the more that the part of her with that hope withers away. “If the attack is brutal enough yes it should.”

The dread in her drags her heart into her stomach to burn. “Could...” She can't look at Danu when she asks this. “Could it be possible that my powers are being drained?”

This time Danu's answer is instantaneous. “Yes, there are bonds that can be formed that would allow that to be possible.”

Lydia stands so fast that she gets vertigo. “I need to go.” Without waiting for a response from Danu she bolts out of the room, not caring if the door doesn't close behind her as she runs. Her mind isn't whirring, it's a desolate and cold field. The eerie calm before the inferno of rage consumes her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Aftermath.
> 
> As a heads up next week's chapter _might_ be a few days late, it's going to be a lot harder than I thought it would be to get the right balance to allow things to move forward and I want it to be as in-character as I can make it.  
>  -  
> [Here's](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikWHZWMDZqekIwVGc/view?usp=sharing) my insparation for Lydia's dress. And since I was an idiot and forgot it in chapter 20 [here's](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikZ1NHek5mM3hnaVE/view?usp=sharing) Lydia's crown.
> 
> [Aldans](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikc1FEOUhLakc2ZGs/view?usp=sharing)  
> and if I ever find good pics for Vee (so hard to find a nice bald lady) and Danu I'll post em.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first off, thank you so much for bearing with me on this chapter, having that extra breathing room made things a little less stressful for me.
> 
> On that note thanks so much to [Lostmemoria](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lostmemoria/pseuds/lostmemoria)/[Lydiasdeputy](http://lydiasdeputy.tumblr.com/) for agreeing to beta this chapter, it helped a lot sweetheart.
> 
> Also this chapter officially pushes the word count over 200,000K!
> 
> For the final note I pretty much listened to Korsakov's Schehrazade on repeat while I wrote this, so you could kind of consider it the soundtrack for this chapter.

As if in response to her mood the hall around her dims and a cold wind pushes at her back driving her forward.

She reaches their room in a much shorter amount of time than it took her to do the opposite trip—a detached part of her wonders if the Mound somehow folded into itself to make her trip quicker.

A hand reaches out to open the door but before she can touch it it flies open hitting the wall with enough force to actually shake the main room, as she steps into the bedroom the non-existent lights flare into intense brightness, waking Jordan and Peter regardless of their thoughts on the subject.

Firstly she lets herself look at Jordan, who has no part in this really and lets her expression soften. “You should go Jordan, this doesn't concern you.” She doesn't have the patience though to watch if he does. Peter she pins with the coldest glare she can manage, the temperature in the room drops rapidly enough she hears the wood groan. “Give it back.”

He stands, wrapping a blanket toga like around himself. “What are you talking about?” He sounds far more nonchalant than he should.

Somehow the room gets even colder, cold enough that she can see Peter's breath clearly. “You know damn well what I'm talking about, you've been taking my powers for who knows how long.” She draws herself up as much as she can. “I've been defending you against the others, Peter. I've been _trusting you_. _Y_ _ou've been using me!”_ She will _not_ cry. “You need to stop Peter, _now_. As it is...I don't know how we can continue on as we have.”

Out of everything she's said _that's_ what seems to shock him the most, though as she watches that shock quickly turns to anger. “What was I supposed to have done Lydia? I knew I was going to die, either by hunters or by wolves, I needed a way to stay alive.”

It shocks her a little that that's how far back it goes. “ _Why haven't you ever told me_?” Though she's not sure how she would have reacted if she'd found out earlier, maybe before she'd found out what she really was she wouldn't have cared all that much; though she also finds herself wanting to know what the full breathed of her power feels like.

“When should I have done it Lydia? When I first attacked you? When I was in your mind?” He gives a derisive snort. “Would you have actually believed me Lydia? Your willful ignorance back then astounded even me.” He strides over, trying to intimidate her with his size, but she won't be cowed.

“After? Well you were more than happy to ignore everything about your own powers, until you nearly died again. Only then did you really seem to care, and well,” he shrugged. “Even then would you have believed me? ' _Peter doesn't do anything for free_ '.” He doesn't try to imitate Allison, she doesn't want to know what she'd have done if he had, but him saying her words feels like a slap in the face.

Reaching up she shoves him, he sways but is otherwise unmoved. “Stop it! Just stop however you're doing it and leave me alone! Go back to your _family_ if they're that damn important to you. Not that Derek wants your help.”

He snarls, teeth elongating eyes flashing even bluer. “I can't Lydia, the bond between us is unbreakable.”

She...she just can't right now. A scream escapes her and vicious satisfaction fills her when he flinches, and she spins around and storms out. Barely even noticing a stunned Jordan still by the door.

Right now all she wants is to be alone.

—

As Lydia storms away Peter actually finds himself getting up to follow her. It happened and what does he do? Pisses her off more than she already was. If he could just _explain,_ make her understand...Jordan's standing in front of him, blocking the door. Peter doesn't want to waste time dealing with the other man and snarls, barring wolf teeth. Jordan just snarls back, showing off less impressive teeth, that backbone of his making it's usual appearance. His scent going into that acrid smokey tone Peter hates so much. “Peter, _what_ was she talking about?”

It's the angriest Peter has ever seen Jordan and it's enough to actually make him squirm—a sensation Peter detests. “Lydia told you it wasn't your business.” Peter nearly bites his tongue after he speaks, because despite their truthfulness—even if they're both Jordan's lovers the relationship between him and Lydia is far more complex—he knows those words will only make Jordan angrier.

 _Can't do anything right can you?_ The thought sounds suspiciously like Talia's voice.

For the first time it's _Jordan_ shoving Peter against something. “I think you had better make it mine Peter.”

Peter's not necessarily afraid for his life, even if he's loathed to do it he _will_ draw on Lydia's power to defend himself—though he finds he would do his best to only incapacitate Jordan. He bares his teeth in a rictus of a smile. “Give me one good reason why I should tell you?”

Jordan's eyes flash. “Because I love you both, damn it!”

That, he, from the expression of Jordan's face Peter can tell he's not the only one shocked right now. He feels his shoulders slump, because Peter realizes those are the exact right words to get him to talk. For all that Peter knows Jordan might well take his words back afterwards. “Lydia told you what I did to her right?”

Silently Jordan, or should Peter be calling him Erwann, nods.

Peter finds himself staring over Erwann's shoulder, he can't meet the other man's eyes right now. Doesn't want to see them condemn him. “While I was in her mind I created a bridge that allowed me to reach in and borrow from her power.” Oh, what power it'd been. That first week or two after he'd been resurrected had been touch and go for a time. He hadn't been lying to Derek when he'd said his strength and healing weren't up to their usual snuff. After that it'd been too good a lie to let go, it made everyone underestimate him.

“That's it?” He wonders if Erwann's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He nods. “From my perspective that's it, though it seems my drawing may have had...adverse effects on the using of her powers.” He's not sure how to think or feel about that, on the one hand maybe it's a good thing. On the other is that Lydia clearly doesn't think so. It's starting to seem like he's got his paw stuck in a trap and the only option is to gnaw it off.

Erwann releases him, but doesn't step back. “Were you telling the truth, about not being able to break it?”

He nods. “It was half luck that I made the bond in the first place, I might have some experience in other's minds, but I have no idea how to change it.” Not even in the way Lydia wants him to. If only he could convince Lydia of that. How is he going to make it up to her?

If he even can.

Now Erwann steps away from him. “Go.” He waves a tired hand. “Find her.”

Something in Peter whines in pain. “Erwann...”

Pale green eyes blaze as they meet his. “Go Peter. I, I need to be alone, I need to think.”

Feeling too much like a dog with his tail between his legs Peter goes.

—

Morana finds Lydia some time later curled up in a snowbank in the Heart. Gracefully her mother sits and gently pulls Lydia to her side. “What has happened my dear?” A hand begins to run soothingly through her hair. The fabric of her icy green dress scratches at Lydia's cheek.

“Peter’s been stealing my power for well over a year now. He...he isn’t even ashamed of it. He won’t tell me how to break the bond between us. He says it can’t be broken.” Lydia finds herself between wanting to cry and not wanting to cry, and overall it makes her feel exhausted.

“If you grant me an imposition I will look and see for myself.” Morana’s hand moves to cup her cheek.

“Imposition?”

“You are my daughter, here in the Heart we may touch each other’s powers. It will likely feel strange to you, but it shall let me know how you are being affected and what can be done.”

Which is the best news Lydia’s heard in a while. “Yes, please.” She can’t remember the last time Peter _outright_ lied to her, like always this was a lie of omission, but this could be it.

The hand cupping her cheek leaves and is soon entwines with one of Lydia’s. “Close your eyes and relax.” Lydia does, breathing deeply and letting herself lean on Morana’s cool strength. A few moments later she feels like someone’s running an ice cube down her spine and squirms. “Apologies dear, I am almost finished.”  _Oh_ , that feeling is Morana; it’s not at all what she expected from what had been explained as the magical equivalent of a check-up. The sensation does soon fade away though. “There all done. You may open your eyes.”

As Lydia does so she feels Morana’s hand let hers go. She glances at her mother, and doesn’t know whether to be reassured or worried about the neutral expression on her face. “So?”

Morana’s hands fold primly in her lap. “It is as Peter says, the bond cannot be broken. He forged it with his death and for a banshee that is _very_ power magic. Perhaps if your grandmother were still among us she could break it, but she fell into sleep centuries ago. That is not to say it cannot be changed or altered.” Lydia opens her mouth to speak but Morana gives her a look. “I do not approve of his actions at all, and you are correct in your reactions. However, from what I have seen and what you have told me of your life, the eruption of your senses paired with the surge of power gained from dying may have very well driven your mind to madness, if he had not been there to stem it. A thought I _cannot_ abide.” Gracefully Morana stands. “You may hate him, but you _will_ speak with him and, as the mortals would say, get your shit together. The Summer Solstice is in three days and I will _not_ court rumors of discord and strain within the inner circle while we are there. There is another bond, one I find more...worrying.”

A frown crosses Lydia's face, another bond? What? Oh, _oh_. “I know about that one.” It hasn't seem to do any of them good. “Why are you worried?” Outside of the Nogitsune the bond with the Nemeton hasn't exactly been malicious.

“I'm _very_ old Lydia, when something manages to hide, even if for a moment, itself from me I tend to not like it. Your own nonchalance bothers me.” She holds out her hand again. “May I?”

While she’s not exactly jumping at the chance to experience that ice cube sensation again the fact that Morana is _worried_ is well, worrying. Lydia nods. “Alright.”

Morana inclines her head, “I appreciate your indulging me.” This time she doesn’t cup Lydia’s cheek, but takes her hands in her own instead. Once more the ice cube sensation runs itself down her back, though it also spreads out past that, and after a point it barely even bothers her anymore. That is until it stops and she has to get used to _not_ experiencing it. “I believe I understand it now, and I am glad to see it weakening, as it well should.” Morana stands and pats her hands on her dress, all of the snow clinging to it falling off in a single sheet.

“Why?” Right now Lydia thinks there’s no such thing as an unnecessary question, especially when she barely has any idea what’s going on.

Morana steps to her and offers her a hand up. “I will endeavor to be as blunt as possible so you may understand what you should have been raised to know. You are the princess of this court, and one day you _will_ be queen. It is... _unwise_ to tie yourself to things that are not of the fae or have been touched by it. Because one day you _will_ find yourself torn between those two choices, and as a future queen this is to be avoided at all costs.” Oh, she remembers her mother saying something like that on her birthday, but she hadn't really remembered it. “From your lack of concern over the second bond I can only conclude you barely asked any questions before agreeing to it.” Lydia wants to protest, explain to her mother that they hadn’t had _time,_ more people would have died if they hadn’t cut off Jennifer at the source. She finds herself hesitating and second guessing that now, had what they’d done really cut off Jennifer? Had doing it done more good than harm considering what happened next? She may have been only Stiles’ anchor but clearly she’s connected to the Nemeton in some fashion, one her mother doesn’t much approve of. “You may not like this, but the bond Peter made with you was against your will, and ultimately changed him as well as you.”

She’s right, Lydia doesn’t like it. “What do you mean? I changed Peter?” Even if she’s a little annoyed by her mother she still accepts the help up.

There’s a shrug, and for a brief time Lydia thinks that’s the only response Morana is going to give her. “If what you have told me occurred as you said then he spent five weeks in your mind, and then drew on your powers to strengthen himself. Did you think this would do nothing to him?” The look Morana gives Lydia at that moment makes her feel like such an idiot that she, for one violent blinding second, hates her mother with everything she has. If Morana picks up on that second she never shows it. “Asking for help from a fae, or drawing from it’s power has a price. Though it’s clear you nor Peter realize that.”

“Price?” Right now she's not all that happy with Peter, but she doesn't think she wants to see him dead, or in pain she hasn't inflicted on him—she's petty enough to feel that might make her feel a little better.

“Yes,” hazel eyes stare out over the pond. “Usually it is something that's related to how the power is borrowed, but since nothing of that sort has happened yet, unless there's something you have not told me, I do not see why you and Peter could not work out an exchange of your own.”

Lydia accepts her mother's words, but doesn't necessarily like them. She doesn't _want_ to talk or see Peter, despite apparently _needing_ to. She finds herself wishing Danny was here, he'd let her bitch and moan all she wanted without much in the way of judgment; _then_ talk some sense into her. Morana had said Lydia was correct in acting the way she had, but she just wants her mother to tell her that everything will be alright and that Lydia never had to see Peter again if she didn't want to. That he'd be dealt with and Lydia could mourn in peace. Smacks too much of a lie even in Lydia's own head. “What should I say, when I see him?” If her mother wants this conversation to be productive than Lydia's going to need a guide of some sort. All she can think of is to scream and shout some more at Peter.

Reaching out Morana brushes some of Lydia's hair back. “Oh Lydia, my Diantha.” The use of a name she would have had does strange things to Lydia. “If I could tell you I would.” Mother gives a wan smile. “Arguments such as this are far too personal for advice such as that. I can however, give you something your father would appreciate.”

Lydia frowns. “What?”

“It would not surprise me if Peter asked you to forgive him.”

Anger roars through Lydia and she vehemently shakes her head. “No,” she says flatly. She _won't_ forgive him.

Something that might be a real smile flutters briefly across Morana's face. “Yes, an impossible task for you at this time.” She reaches out again, but this time to lay a hand on Lydia's shoulder. “For which your father might say that in return you should give him an impossible task of his own.”

“How would that help?” Her frown deepens, that suggestion makes no sense to her at all; and feels very out of context.

“All things being what they are, it would give him an idea of how you feel about what he's asking.” Her mother gets a far off look in her eyes for a brief moment. “It would give him hope that forgiveness might eventually come.”

Her anger returns full force, burning away her confusion. “Never,” she snaps.

The hand on her shoulder is gone in an instant and Lydia can see her mother clench it into a fist. “Never is a very long time Lydia,” her tone sounds strained for once. “Especially for near immortal beings such as ourselves. You may be surprised to find even just a decade later that you are not of the same mind as you are now.”

A part of Lydia knows that, people's attitudes and ideas change all the time, but the rest of her can't ever see herself forgiving Peter. “Can, can you leave me please?” She needs to think.

Something that might be hurt flashes across Morana's face, but then it's gone and mother's hands loosen from fists and come back up to cup Lydia's cheeks. “Yes.” She leans down and kisses Lydia's forehead.

The moment she sees Morana enter the tunnel she collapses back into the snow. The hem of her robe billowing out. It's not her robe is it? She nearly gives into a fit of pique and tears it off herself to chuck into the lake. Her practical side brings up the fact that doing that would just create more problems down the line, enough to overcome any feeling of satisfaction she might get from seeing it sink into the depths.

It's pointless for her to wish this hadn't happened, that Peter hadn't been so power hungry that, well, he couldn't have known what would happen to them when he did it. Which didn't stop it from still hurting, or wondering why he hadn't told her when they'd first started having sex. Morana had been right though, she might not _want_ to talk to Peter, but she apparently had to.

Resolved she gets up and after dusting off what little snow clings to her she leaves.

Once again her path traverses only empty halls and rooms, though unlike yesterday—gods above had it been only yesterday?—this time she didn't mind. This way she didn't have to think about interacting with people and putting on a polite face; or starting rumors like her mother didn't want. She might be searching for Peter, but she finds Jordan first. He pulls her into a hug, one she gratefully returns. “Peter told me,” Lydia stiffens. But doesn't pull away, she needs the touch of someone she loves and Jordan fits the bill perfectly. Jordan seems to at least understand the need and just hugs her tighter. “Do you want to tell me your side?”

A bitter laugh escapes her. “What is there to tell? Peter probably knows more than I do.” She finds she doesn't care about the anger in her voice.

“So? Just because Peter told me the facts doesn't mean he told me how _you_ feel about it all. Or maybe there's something you remember that he doesn't consider important enough to mention. Maybe all this loosened a memory you didn't tell me the first time.” He sounds so patient and kind that she can't really take it anymore. Even though she'd already cried herself dry she buries her face in his shirt and cries again.

He starts to run a soothing hand through her hair and murmuring to her in Breton. As she cries she remembers the first time they'd done this. How he'd been the first person she'd told about her relationship with Peter. This time when she pushes herself up to kiss him he actually reacts. For all of ten seconds before he's pulling away, though still keeping her in his arms. “No Lydia. You're not exactly in a normal frame of mind, and I care about you both too much to let you use me as something against him. I'm here for the _both_ of you. _”_

She nearly speaks up to protest that, she doesn't want to _use_ him she just wants to be with him, but instead she shudders and slumps against him. “How can you have forgiven him already?” Yes, she knows Peter and Jordan have a relationship separate from her's with Peter, or with Jordan. To her this felt like it transcended all of it.

“I'm not the one he wronged Lydia, it's not my place to forgive him.” His hand began to smooth through her hair again. “To be honest, I'm too old to get really upset over something like this. I've seen far worse.” He shrugs. “But that's not really important. How are you feeling?”

“Betrayed,” she says into his shirt. “I told everyone that Peter had changed, that he wasn't scheming anymore, but here he is.” _To be fair to Peter_ , a twisted part of her pipes up, _this isn't something_ new _this is leftovers from the old_. “I don't even know what I can really do thanks to him.”

The hand in her hair slows, then stops, and for a brief moment Jordan is perfectly still. “Lydia, is part of the reason you're so angry because you think you could have saved Allison if Peter hadn't done what he did?”

Lydia stiffens. _Oh God_.

The other day she'd told Scott he thought she was to blame for Allison's death. Lydia dreads that she might be of the same mind now. It makes her feel far older than she has any right to feel. She squeezes her eyes shut and wishes she could've just talked to Allison one last time. Her grip on Jordan tightens. “I just don't want to be hurt anymore.” What Peter did to her, at the time nearly losing Jackson, almost being killed by Jennifer, losing Allison and Aiden, Brunski attempting to kill her, the friction between her and the pack; she's _eighteen._ The only things she should be worried about are if she'll fit in better at college, and what she might do afterwards.

Instead she's in what amounts to another world, being comforted by one lover over the actions of her other. A bitter laugh escapes her, when put that way it sounds like some bad fantasy soap opera.

“Lydia?” He doesn't sound any more worried than before, but her laughter probably isn't sitting well with him.

She gives a little shake of her head. “Just thinking that my life would be the perfect jumping off point for a soap opera.” Or maybe 'reality' TV.

He huffs, but a smile twitches at his lips. She's glad that at least they can both find _some_ humor in the situation. One of his hands brushes her hair back, reminding her of her mother's earlier action. “I'm here for you Lydia, in any non-payback way you want me. I know I'll do nearly anything to keep you from being hurt by others.”

“Thank you.” She takes a shaky breath. “I really do appreciate it.” This time when she rises up on her toes it's only to press a swift kiss to the corner of his mouth. Within her there's still a turmoil of thoughts and emotions, but she thinks one thing is becoming clear. “I, I think I love you.” To be honest, it's something that's been lurking in the back of her mind for a while, but she's only now willing to acknowledge it.

Surprise flits across his face, before it breaks out into a full smile. He bends down and gives her a full kiss. Leaving her a little breathless when he pulls away. “Good, because I know I love you Lydia Florence Martin.”

This time her laughter is much lighter, though just as brief. The happiness from those words doesn't overcome her anger, but they do leave her feeling lighter than before.

Jordan pulls away from her. “Now go find Peter. Promise me you'll try to just talk to him? I care about him just as much as I do you.” It's not exactly a slap to the face, but she's not expecting him to admit that to her.

Still she nods, “I'll try to just talk.” He only wants her to _try_ , she's not sure how well she could manage if he'd asked her to _only_ talk with Peter; she's certain she wouldn't be able to help shouting at him a few more times. Another brief kiss and then she's standing alone in the hall, watching Jordan walk down to an end. She turns around before he reaches the end and heads off in the opposite direction. _I want to find Peter Hale_. Before her what was once a crossroads shifts into a dead end with a deep red door. She frowns at it for a few moments before pushing it open, clearly this is where the Mound wants to take her, so there's no point in trying something else. The door opens to a field so large she can't see it's edges. No sign of Peter.

However, something about this place settles her more than even the Heart could, and as far as places to have confrontations empty fields aren't a bad place to start. Curiosity tugs her forwards and she begins walking over the snow.

—

Peter's been wandering the halls of the Mound for so long now he fancifully begins to wonder if this is his hell. Always searching for Lydia, for way to try and make things better, but never finding either. There had been a few minutes when he'd thought he'd caught her scent. Following it had only lead to a literal dead end. He's even gone so far as to stop some of the fae and ask if they'd seen her, none of them had.

If this is hell maybe he deserves it.

After all Lydia was right, he should have told her sooner about what he'd done. Only fear had stopped him. Fear that she wouldn't care about him anymore, fear that she'd turn against him and he'd be left alone again. Except now he's sure all of that's most definitely true. Even if Jordan had professed to be in love with him, would that love remain if Lydia didn't?

 _Of course not Peter, who could ever love you? You're_ broken.

He snarls and slams a fist against the nearest stone wall, nearly relishing the pain that came from his now broken hand. The rest of his body soon follows the same path as his hand and he's on the floor, barely held up by the wall before he realizes it. His hand itches fiercely as it begins to heal.

People sometimes cared about broken things. It's fast becoming clear to him that he'd been fooling himself in this case. What sort of love did the wolf who'd left his niece helpless and weak against hunters, attacked an innocent girl, tricked his nephew into giving up his Alpha spark with the intent to kill the other niece that it'd been given to, gleefully slaughtered the architect of his pack's murder, deserve?

The wall he's leaning against shifts, and he's _falling_.

Before he can even think to orient himself he hits snow. In a flash he's up, prepared to defend himself, except he's alone. His heart eventually begins to calm and his Beta form shifts away; deciding he's not actually going to be attacked he looks around. The...'snow covered field' are the only words for it, except in Peter's mind an open field such as this has no right to be inside a hill—though it's been made apparent to Peter since they entered that physical right and wrong have little to do with fae realms, he finds himself in is near pristine.

It's pristineness really is a near thing, the footprints that could be considered a marring are barely there. Peter stares at them for a moment before deciding to follow, at this point he doesn't have a reason not to. The snow crunches underfoot, the only sounds his ears pick up. Making him half feel that he's stepped into a painting, all silent and still. The flatness of the field is deceptive, hiding deep valleys within, some of them are deep enough that Peter feels the ought to rightly be called crevasses. There's a bit of luck though in that they're running the same way he's traveling, so he hasn't yet had to figure out a way to cross one. In the end though the footprints veer from their straight path and into one of the more shallow valleys. A valley that has an odd, floating streak of red in it, as well as a fainter red one on the ground, and between them a smaller dark smudge. As he gets closer he realizes that the red streak isn't floating in midair, they're leaves on a snow white tree.

Lydia, is the dark smudge. She's managed to find a seat in the tree and sits as if it's a throne and not a tree, even the silk robe she's wearing can't really detract from her current royal bearing. He aches as he realizes he can't just go up and tell her that. For all her physical poise she smells defeated—from what little of her his nose can discern the rest of her scene somehow has vanished within that of the landscape—and it makes the wolf inside him pace and snarl. Peter nearly throws himself at her feet, begs for forgiveness, anything that make take away that horrid scent that clings to the back of his throat. All of his earlier thoughts are returning and he finds himself thinking that he probably doesn't deserve her forgiveness. He should just give the best apology he can and leave.

Leave and never look back. Let her and Jordan, or Erwann, or whomever he decides to be, find some measure of happiness with each other. Maybe if Peter's lucky a few centuries down the line, when he's dust in his grave, Lydia might think fondly of him again.

“I just...I needed...” _Can't even apologize right_. Internally he snarls. “I'm sorry.” He hangs his head.

“Why?” Even though she's not crying there are tears in her voice. “What could be so important to you Peter that you'd do that?”

Now, now he falls to his knees, a sliver of him still yearns for forgiveness. Even though he knows full well he doesn't deserve it. “Protecting my family. Protecting _you_.” Somehow he manages to keep himself from saying more: that he would do or say _anything_ if it meant she or Jordan would be safe. A part of him points out that holding back is what got him into this mess in the first place. Maybe saying more than he should is the only way he can at least come to terms with it. Even though that other voice in him is saying he should be quiet and accept what she does to him, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I don't want to be alone again Lydia. You and Jordan, I.” His throat closes up, but he fights past it; he _needs_ to say this. “I don't know what I might do if something happened to either of you.” He gives a little bitter laugh. “So I took power from you, to make myself more powerful, so I could defend those I care about.

“I don't think I can apologize for attacking you Lydia, because I don't feel bad for wanting to live, but I will admit the trauma I inflicted on you afterwards was unnecessary, excessive, and uncalled for. Despite the fact you were firmly in denial about everything at that time I could have been more upfront with you. And for that I apologize.” _That_ is the complete and utter truth, and he hopes she comprehends that. “In that vein I will swear, on whatever you wish, that I will _never_ do it again, to you or anyone else...not without talking to you, _and_ Jordan, about it.” Though he believes he never _will_ do it again, he had done it out of a need to survive and to gain power, he doesn't need that power anymore, and as long as Lydia—and Jordan—survives he thinks he would be fine with dying.

He finds himself shuffling closer, testing a little what she will allow of him. “Know if it means I don't have to risk you or Jordan or any of my family I will always choose myself.” He should at least be honest about that, twice he's eluded death and both times make the prospect of dying less and less attractive. He might accept dying to save them, but he would much rather live for them.

“How do I know you are telling the truth Peter? Or telling me all of it?” Her hands fold primly on her lap. “Currently your past actions are belying your words.”

At this point he finds he has no shame and throws himself at her feet.”Just,” the snow and the fabric of the robe muffles his words a little. “Tell me what you want me to do Lydia, tell me how I can prove myself.”

She's silent for so long he begins to think she's somehow vanished without him noticing. But when he looks up through his eyelashes she's still sitting there, staring off into the distance. Internally his wolf whines, wanting Lydia to look at them, _see_ them. He keeps it in, the last thing he wants to do is set her off or antagonize her. Lydia sighs softly and leans back against the tree. A few leaves flutter down to land on her shoulders and hair. The ones in her hair flutter off when she tilts her head down to look him in the eye. “If we went into my mind could you show me the bond?”

“Probably yes.” Though he knows she'll want something more than that. “I'm fairly certain I can find it, but I'm not going to guarantee it.” He hasn't been in her mind since his hibernation a year and a half ago, and the feel of the bond from his side is too pervasive to really suss it out.

As if expecting that answer she gives a little nod, her hands on her lap tighten, the fabric bunching around them. “Mother told me there was always a price to borrowing fae powers. One I don't think you've payed yet.”

Something like resigned dread fills him and he hangs his head. “Of course Lydia.”

“She also said that if one hadn't already been paid it could be worked out between those involved. I'm going to reserve any thoughts on that until after I've seen all I can of the bond. Understand?”

It's not a reprieve, but if he could howl to the moon he would. “You're going to have to trust me enough to enter your mind Lydia.” Peter's always hated feeling nervous and this time is no exception. Though this is the most nervous he's been in a good while— _waiting outside the bathroom on his floor as Sarah takes a pregnancy test—_ it still manages to catch him by surprise that he has all of his memories back.

She narrows her eyes at him from her living throne, the branches above her tremble, causing bloody red leaves to fall to the ground and on them. Eventually though she comes to a decision. “Fine.” She scoots forward. “I catch you doing anything suspicious Peter I will _not_ hesitate to harm you.”

On the whole Peter has never been one to enjoy mixing fear with his arousal—in regards to himself—but with Lydia...well she will always be the exception to his rule. Hands palms up in front of him he slowly rises up, treating her like the hostile predator she currently is. She stiffens when she sees his claws but doesn't react in any other way, her scent crisp and cold completely devoid of it's usual floral tones. Gently he sets his claws on her spine and drives them in, he doesn't need to go as deep as he would with others, their bond facilitating their merging faster. It also allows him to bring her inside her own mind as it were, just to prove that he's not planning anything.

'Opening' his eyes he finds himself looking around in surprise. Her mental landscape has changed completely since he resided in it. Before it had been a dark wood, the perfect place for a wolf to live and hunt and run. Now, now it's a snowy valley. There are a few small hills and trees and shrubs that dot the landscape, but otherwise it's open and clear. The sort of image one might expect to see on a postcard. “Well, you _have_ changed.” It's true, a testament to how much the past year and a half has affected her; made her more open, at least with herself and her views, softened her edges, made her more clear headed. Honestly it's quite breath taking.

Beside him Lydia huffs. “If you're done stating the obvious Peter I'd like to get this done sooner rather than later.”

He can only acquiesce. 'Reaching out' with his hand he feels around for the echo of himself, it takes longer than he thought it would but he eventually gets a ping. “This way.” He begins moving, his feet leaving no traces at all on the snow—which he realizes they've been standing _on_ not in.

Lydia doesn't say anything as she follows, and he's not sure if he should be worried or not. Together they travel down the hill and through the picturesque valley. The snow here is littered with objects, the bits and pieces that make up Lydia, her memories and knowledge. But unlike last time he ignores them, following the growing echo of his own mind.

They reach another hill before finally coming across it. The 'it' in this case being a cave. Peter finds him wondering if he really should have expected any differently. It's big enough to fit two people abreast, conveniently, and looks to stretch out long past the other end of the hill. “Well here we are Lydia, our connection.”

—

Lydia stares at the cave in her own mind. Symbolically it makes sense, but it all feels a little _too_ on the nose.

Still for all she knows that's how mental landscapes are supposed to work. Her only other point of comparison is Stiles' and that mind had also been home to an evil spirit at the time.

So a cave.

Not impossible to destroy, but without the right tools she could do so very much damage to herself in an attempt to do so if she didn't know exactly what she was doing. Speaking of. “What, exactly, does it do?”

Peter shrugs, his form next to her isn't quite human, but not like any of the werewolf features she's ever seen. More like a still from a horror/fantasy werewolf transformation. She wonders what she looks like in her own mind. “The times I've used it since I left your mind all I've done is siphon off some of your own power to bolster my own. If there are any other applications I've never bothered to find them.”

Which isn't reassuring at all. On the other hand, it feels as if Peter's words have a truth to them—though how she knows that is beyond her—and there's strange comfort in that. “When was the last time you did that?”

“La Iglesia,” he answers after an acceptable few seconds of thought.

Nearly four months ago. Yet she thinks he might have been unintentionally siphoning nearly all the time, because her own powers have been...inconsistent at best. “I'm going to guess you have no idea how many times you've taken from me?” She needs as many data points as she can get before coming to any sort of conclusion regarding Peter. It's amazing how she can still feel her anger here in her own mind, but it's more distant than before. Something over a hill instead of right next to her.

He shrugs. “Maybe somewhere around a hundred times. More often at the beginning than later.”

Which lines up. The summer before the Alpha's she'd basically been 'normal', and then she'd only had fugue states and nightmares after Jenny had started killing people, which probably would've been when Peter was taking from her most. A literal flash brightens the 'sky' above them, with it comes the realization that perhaps those occasional whispers she'd heard were related to her powers. Danu had said the bones would whisper their secrets. She'd only started hearing them during the Nogitsune fiasco, but always in fits and starts.

So Peter's claim lines up at least a little with her own actual experience of events.

“Why didn't you tell me about it earlier?” For all she knows this will be the last time he's so upfront with her and she should take advantage of it while she can.

Peter slumps against the side of the cave, but meets her eyes. “I was afraid of what you might do, what you might think. The other day you said Scott thought I was controlling you, I didn't want you to think I'd coerced you in some way into our relationship.”

A wintery chill fills her and snow beings to fall around them. “Can you do that?” He'd said he'd only siphoned power from her, but he'd also said he didn't know if the bond could do anything else. She's not sure if it would be better or worse if everything between them on her side was a lie.

“I don't _know_ Lydia,” he snarls, sounding pained. “The only way to know would be to try.”

“Then try,” she needs to know one way or the other. “I want you to swear on your life that if you succeed that you let me go.” It's a risk, but one she's willing to take at the moment.

Without even a second's hesitation he nods. “I swear on my life to let you go if I manage to do it.” That, and the hope Jordan or her mother will notice of Peter doesn't hold to the deal, is going to have to be enough. Not that hat settles the part of her that's still extremely wary. She nods in return, bracing herself for what might happen.

Which, at first, is nothing, the cave rumbles and shakes. She finds herself unmoved. Shadow tendrils burst from the cave and like creeper vines begin to insinuate themselves into her mind. The world around her _freezes,_ ice crackling everywhere. The tendrils look iced through and with a toe she nudges the nearest one. It shatters at the touch and the rest quickly follow.

“Well,” Peter sounds shaky, and when she glances at him he's leaning fully against the hill looking worn and tired. “That answers that question rather well I think.”

Yes, yes it does. Something in her loses all it's tension. Relieved to know that at least everything she's done with Peter was of her own free will. It bolsters her in a way Morana's and Jordan's words hadn't. “I want to go into your mind,” Lydia says it quickly, before she can stop herself. She's not sure why, but she's certain that seeing Peter's end will help her figure out _something_.

He makes an 'after you' gesture towards the tunnel/cave, and steeling herself she begins to walk it. It seems to take forever and barely a heartbeat.

The tunnel ends in a door, she turns to Peter, whom she can see clearly even in the darkness. He actually looks surprised by the door but even so he reaches out and shoves it open. They come out onto a, a desert. A wind constantly blows, sending sand everywhere, changing the landscape quicker than she can notice. Despite that there are green spots here and there, oasis offering shelter. In the distance she can also see a sandstorm looming, threatening to change everything.

She takes a few steps into the sand before Peter reaches out and grabs her arm. He looks queasy when she turns to face him. “Lydia, please, be careful. They look inviting but,” his face contorts. “Some of them might be more mire than respite.” He lets go of her like he's been burned. She wants to ask him what he means, except she already knows the answer to that. Some of those heavens are going to be from before the fire, and just as likely to drag you down _into_ the fire and the six following years as not.

Unlike in her own mind she sinks a little bit into the sand when she steps onto it. She heads in a little, but then realizes she can't hear Peter walking with her—not that she heard him when they were in her mind. Turning around she sees him still standing by the cave. “Peter?” It comes out much softer than she'd intended.

He gives a wan smile, and sits. “If it's all the same to you Lydia I'd rather not learn more about myself today than I already have.” Something about that tugs at her in a way she wishes it wouldn't. She's still hurt by what Peter did, but her anger over it has been diminishing faster than she thought it would.

She turns around and starts walking in earnest. Now she's so used to walking _on_ snow that sand is a shock, and she's got to slog through it just like anyone else. Hopefully whatever answers she gets is worth it.

Deciding she might as well, she stops at the first oasis she reaches. It's more temperate looking that she'd expected, making it incongruous with the arid desert around it. Choosing to be cautious she doesn't enter, just stands at the edge and reach out brushes a finger against a fern frond.  _The soft snuffling snore Lydia gave as she cuddled close to him in sleep sparked warmth in him._

Just as soon as the memory starts in her mind it stops, and when she looks at the frond she finds it's curled in on itself, shocked by her touch. Now curious she reaches out and rests a hand on a nearby sapling.  _Lydia swayed as she walked backwards, her scent was wary but her body language made it clear she wasn't retreating. It made the wolf in him stand at attention, take_ notice. _She'd always been attractive, but when she acted like this it did things to him._

_“I said I don't know.” He's impressed she managed to make her voice light and airy despite her increased breathing.”I don't know it's name, or if it's a boy, or a girl. Or some mutated wolf baby.”_

_He stalked towards her, not to terrify the shit out of her—though that would probably what she thought—but because, well, it was_ fun _. “You're lying.” He didn't even need to uses his senses to know that. “Tell me what you know.” He's a father too? She can't just give him that and nothing else. He won't allow it._

_Reaching out he grabbed her arms. “Tell me!”_

Lydia yanks her had away before she experiences second hand what it's like to be tased. The fragment of the memory sparks something in her. Peter had spoken as if the wolf part of him was semi-autonomous, if she looks for it what would she find? With a sort of goal in mind now Lydia continues on. She passes by more oasis, only one of which she pauses at after recognizing the plants in it as the ones from Jordan's kitchen. ... _The feeling of Parrish undulating between the teeth in his throat and the hand on his cock made Peter growl in warning, no matter how much he'd liked it._ She'd hurriedly pulled away from that, now half-flustered with arousal. All the rest she'd avoided—especially the one completely made of poppies—though looking over each for any sign of a wolf.

Lydia found herself wondering if she'd ever run out of oasis to look through, or if they went on forever. She had no idea how much time she'd spent looking. Though she felt grateful that the sandstorm threatening around the horizon hadn't come any close. Or that she didn't feel physical exhaustion here. She'd gone far enough in to have wondering if she'd ever make it back to her own mind. Ruthlessly she shoves that thought aside. She can't let herself think like that, or it might actually become true. _One more_ , she tells herself, _then I'm turning around_.

She lets her gaze peruse the oasis of brambles that she reaches next, then true to her word she turns around, relieved to note her trail is still visible. She only takes a few steps back down it when something dark scuttles past the corner of her eye. Whirling to face it she sees a tail disappear into a oasis of colorful wolfsbane. She finds herself chilled that such a thing would exist in Peter's mind, but resolves herself to the fact she's found what she's looking for and without letting herself have a second thought dives right in after him. It's impossible for her to avoid the stalks and flowers though as she gives chase.

_“Are you sure going off to college is a good idea Peter?”_

_Brown eyes flashing red as she pins him. “I win.”_

_Words that should be teasing are instead biting._

_“Don't bother paying attention to Peter, Derek, or he'll talk your ear off.”_

_“I just feel you've made a grave mistake an I'm here to correct that.”_

_Talia's endless screams as she burns alive with the rest of them._

Lydia tries to tune them out, but they're an endless barrage of actions and words and feelings. She thinks there might be tears streaming down her cheeks. The memories cut off the second she breaks free of the oasis, but pale yellow pollen still clings to her, making her long for a shower to wash it, and the memories, away. She looks around trying to spot the wolf again, but he's nowhere to be seen.

Resigned she slumps to the ground. Great, all that for nothing. To top it off she thinks she might actually be lost now. Just _great_. She's not going to let herself cry about it. Instead she takes a few deep breaths then looks around. Or she looks around until her gaze falls on the wolf not two feet to her right.

He's majestic in the way all wolves seem to be. His coloration is a bit darker than what she's seen with most wolves, but the eyes are all Peter: bright piercing blue.

“Hello,” she speaks softly, afraid anything too loud might scare him off. She starts to hold out a hand for him to sniff, but pulls it back the second she notices it's covered in wolfsbane pollen. For all she knows it won't have any actual effect on him. Still, she does her best to wipe as much as she can off on her skirt before trying again. He trots to her hand and sniffs, then licks, her fingers. The sensation of his tongue makes her start, more because it reminds her of when Prada does it. Before she can even think more on that the wolf is practically in her lap, happily licking her face. _Mine_.

Sputtering she gets a hand in his ruff, it's marvelously soft, and tugs him away as best she can. Granted if this were a real wolf she doesn't think she'd have any chance at all of that working. This is a mind, and she gets his head far enough away that she can breath without having to worry about getting canine drool in her mouth. “Not yours,” she half-heartedly snaps.

The wolf whines and ducks his head in an all too familiar way. _Mine? Mate?_

Some far off part of her starts to debate if that would count as bestiality. The rest of her ignores it and lets the wolf go. “No. You don't get to own someone like that.” That concept might be lost on the more animalistic wolf however. His head tilts in a way she's seen plenty of times on other confused dogs then he gets up and trots off.

With a sigh she gets up herself, and here she'd been thinking meeting Peter's wolf would be more...exciting than that. She sighs again as she surveys what's around her. Perhaps if she circled the wolfsbane oasis she'd make it back to her own trail, if it's still there. Deciding she might as well she cautiously begins to skirt the inviting looking flowers.

She's about three-quarters the way back around, or that's what she's calculated, when the wolf appears by her side again, something in his mouth. She stops and he dutifully drops it on the ground. It looks like a piece of bark. She knows wolves will leave food for prospective mates, but she would've thought that would be more along the lines of a rabbit than tree bark. “Are you implying you think I'm vegetarian?” Which would probably be teasing, if wolves could understand that sort of thing.

Whatever response he might give though is lost to her as she picks up the bark.  _Darkness. Pounding on invisible walls, screaming for someone,_ anyone, _to free him_. Like it's burned her she drops the bark. “What is that?” Her voice shakes. He looks at her for a second before nudging the bark back towards her. “Why are you giving it to me?”

The wolf takes a step closer and butts his head against her hand. _Yours. Show worthy_.

She has no idea what that means...except...It _does_ give her an idea. Before she realizes she's done it she's on one knee and hugging the wolf, scratching behind one of his ears. “Thank you, I think.” Then since it doesn't hurt to ask: “Can you bring me back to Peter?”

When he pulls away the wolf's smiling at her, and gives a short bark before trotting a short distance away.

Starring at the piece of bark for a few more seconds she decides to bring it with her, except she doesn't want to touch it and be pulled into the memory constantly. Eyes darting she tries to find something she could use to hold it; but besides other plant life there's nothing. With a small sigh she grabs the sleeve of the robe she's wearing and tears it off. Folding the fabric over a few times she places it on the bark, then picks up both. Nothing. Relived she stands up and follows the wolf.

This time it feels like the trip to the cave takes less time than her initial wanderings had, though did time have actual meaning in a mental space like this? Perhaps that's something better to think about at a later date, right now she's got to think of a good way to word what she's going to tell Peter. Her idea isn't an impossible task, but she knows it's one Peter won't like one bit. Which suits her just fine.

The cave comes back into view and the wolf barks happily, before nuzzling her hip and trotting off. Peter's still in pretty much the same spot she left him in, but sitting instead of standing. He arches an eyebrow at her as she makes the last few feet. “I see you've made a friend.”

She can't tell if his tone is waspish or bitterly amused, not that she really cares. “I don't know if I'd call it 'friends' considering he's a part of you, who calls me 'mate'?” She arches an eyebrow of her own.

“He's a wolf Lydia, what else would you expect him to call a lover of mine?” He looks off into the distance flatly. “If Jordan were here you'd find the wolf would call him the same.” Which piques Lydia's interest. Did the wolf call them 'mates' because that's the only term it had for lovers of any sort, or because Peter had actual feelings for them? She opens her mouth to ask, but quickly closes it, her grip on the bark tightening. No, no matter how much she wants to ask she can't right now. She needs to tell Peter something else instead.

“I have a proposition.”

Peter tilts his head slightly and looks up at her. “What would that be?”

“Obviously neither of us know how to change this bond, or get rid of it, and so we're stuck with it.” It's not something she likes, but she'll have to get used to it and hope that what she tells him might at least stop most of the leeching.

He nods.

“I want to propose a trade of sorts.” Now for the hard part. She unwraps the fabric from the bark and offers it up to him. He stares at it warily, like he already knows what it is; it wouldn't surprise her if he did. “I want you to gather up every single memory of the fire and your coma and give them to me. Every time you take my power without asking, even unintentionally, I'll send them back to you.” She looks him dead in the eye. “How does that sound?”

Now he's looking at the bark like it might leap out of her hand and stab him. “What if it's a sudden life or death type situation and I don't have the time to ask?”

 _Damn_ , her mind scrambles for a possible solution. “I'll allow that, _but_ afterwards you'll need to come to me and tell me what happened, and if taking from me really did help you survive.”

With a grace that makes the sickly look of his skin stand out even more Peter stands, and holds out a hand. “Then I agree.”

Something in her forgives Peter, just a little. She reaches out to shake his hand, but stops at the last second. “Oh, and one more thing?”

“What?” There's only the barest hint of exasperation in his voice.

“You're also going to put a lock on the door.” Another precaution from him taking without realizing, she hopes.

“Deal.”

They shake hands.

*

They spent so much time in hers and Peter's minds that returning to her physical body feels...alien and strange. A few seconds where she actually thinks it's just some strange trick of her brain. Except Peter doesn't look like a horror-freeze frame anymore and they're back in the snowy field, surrounded by even more red leaves than before. She stays seated and watches Peter stand up, his eyes staying on her face as if afraid she might suddenly leap and attack him. Which, honestly, she might know some self-defense now, but she's not going to be getting into fights anytime soon if she can help it.

“Lydia?” Peter's quiet voice pulls her from her thoughts and she glances down at him to see his offering her a hand.

She could take it, or she could refuse.

In whichever corner of her mind the cave resides in there's now an alcove with a box locked up firm and tight. Payment for what was taken, and punishment for any further taking. It would be so easy to take that hand, act like nothing's changed between them in the past, what? Twelve hours? Three? Despite being connected to the Mound she still has no idea about how the passage of time works in it.

She begins climbing down on her own. “You can catch me if I fall,” she offers Peter.

A pained expression crosses his face, but he nods.

She makes it down onto the snow on her own. A few steps away Peter gives a short bow and makes a gesture. “After you then.” It's still going to take some getting used to, the fact that she can just call up a door where ever she wants, but in this case it's a blessing because she has no idea how far they'd have to go to find a wall here...if there were any. She and Peter, still feeling strained, on her part, step out into one of the plain stone hallways. She thinks they're both surprised to see Jordan waiting for them, a little nervous. Without thinking she goes up to him and wraps her arms around him. “Hi.”

He quickly returns the gesture. “Hey. Are...is everything alright?” From his hesitation she's certain he's asking about her and Peter. Peter wisely doesn't answer, wanting her to set the tone.

She feels her shoulders slump a little, and Jordan's embrace tightens for a moment. “They'll...they're getting better.” That's about as much as she's willing to commit right now. Though Peter's behavior from now on will be the true test.

Jordan pulls away from her, looking a little nervous himself. “Look after all of that, I feel...that is to say I want...there’s a place I need to show you, the both of you.”

Even though she trusts him about as far as she can throw him right now, she and Peter share a look of worry. “Alright.”

Peter finally steps up beside the both of them. She finds it only vaguely worrying that him being that close doesn't worry her, her body knows him too well to be frightened when it should be. “Lead the way.”

They head left, Lydia's senses telling her they're going further... _in_ , as much as one can go 'in' in a place that's firmly in the non-euclidean side of geometry. As they walk Lydia's a little surprised they only seem to be going through hallways, it's different from her own experiences; is it her that's special? Or the fact she was alone? Something to think on later. Finally they stop at a set of heavily carved oak doors, they're easily twice as tall as she is and definitely imposing. Without looking at either of them Jordan pushes the doors open and steps aside as if wanting them to go first.

She steps in. At first the space is dark, giving away nothing, but ever so slowly illumination comes and her eyes widening at the sight before her. Lydia had never thought the fae would have a cemetery, yet here they are. Her sense of the Mound tells her they’re surprisingly close to the Heart, thought that makes a certain sort of sense. In a way it’s like every graveyard Lydia’s ever seen: a large grassy field with gravel paths cut in, every inch of ground full bursting with headstones and the occasional crypt. Dominating the whole scene is the most massive yew tree Lydia has ever seen, it’s trunk tangled and gnarled with age. In fact the trunk is so massive that it's split numerous times, making it look more like five yew trees instead of one. At the edges of her mind she can hear murmurs, the dead, and she has to wonder what they would sound like to her if she wasn't sharing her powers with Peter.

Without thinking—or maybe it's instinct—she races to the yew and lays her hands on the bark, it’s warm and alive in a way trees usually aren’t. Something reaches out to her mind and instinctively she shoves it away. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Jordan gasp and stumble, Peter quickly reaching out to support him. Tentatively something reaches out again, and even though there's a part of her screaming not to do it—especially with the knowledge of Peter's betrayal fresh in her mind—she lets it brush against her. All her breath leaves her in a rush as that brief contact from the tree leaves her with a very definite sense of _Erwann._ Then just as quickly it's gone.

Jordan is the tree and the tree is him.

He’s huddling in Peter’s embrace now, shaking and gasping in pleasure from the brief touch of their minds, but he’s also firm and sure in the ground, roots reaching everywhere and tying him to each and every corpse here. That knowledge brings comfort with it. Jordan won’t die, not truly anyway, as long as there are dead to turn to dust in his stead. She knows she could do the same for herself, for Peter—despite her current anger—if she were so inclined, destroying that fear completely. She knows now that she can set a ghost free at the small price of killing herself, using the ghost to bring herself back. Death begetting life.

A shuddering sound of her own leaves her as she yanks her hands back. Any longer would have felt like a violation of the intimacy Jordan offered. Yet when Peter and Jordan reach her she reaches out to both of them, not only taking Jordan’s hand, but Peter’s—because for all _their_ problems he and Jordan are good for each other and he deserves to know this—hand as well, she sets on the tree, her fingers slotting through theirs to touch bark. Power fills them in a way she’s never experience before and she can feel tears stream down her face as her mind falls into and through Peter’s and Erwann’s.

For a single crystalline moment they’re not three, but one.

Part of them rejoices. They are _safe_ , none could harm them when they were this powerful. Never again would they be brought low, made helpless. They could truly protect their family, images rush through: the way Lydia smiles in the morning, Jordan's laughter during sex, Malia's earthiness, Derek's determination to care—even if only vaguely understood—and ever so faintly Cora's need to not be any sort of burden. Understanding fills them, and enough forgiveness for the time being.

Soon they found themselves tempered by the urge to be worthy of the love given to them.  _W_ _e/I cannot fail, not again_. Images/memories of another tree, another yew, though death-in-life, a Yvonne, dreaming dead dreams. Now they can reach out with Death and give a nudge, when before there was only hope. _Won’t you wake? We/I miss you sister._

That part that is Death, that does not yearn for safety, does not long to earn, soon says _enough_.

With a gasp Lydia is herself again. Blindly she reaches out for Peter and Erwann and they fall on each other like beasts.

Clothes meet their ends to claws and eager fingers, until they’re naked and there are fingers sliding into her and... _yes_... Her own hands reach out, one grabbing a shoulder the other a cock, pumping and pulling and grounding. Delicately claws join the fingers already inside her, stretching her even further and prickling against her, and like that she’s orgasming. Her hand on the shoulder breaks skin as she moans. “Now, _please_.” She needs them inside her _now!_

Both her men are so lost they can’t even speak—she's surprised she managed words herself—but they do act. A cock slides into her and she lets go of the second to scrabble at another shoulder, drawing more blood as she whines. It's _almost_ what she needs. The man behind her, she's too far lost to try and guess who it is—it doesn't matter in the face of this heat consuming them, moves closer and tilts her hips back a little.

A _scream_ rips from her throat as he starts working his way in. She's being stretched in ways she never has been before and she loves it, needs more of it. She knows they need to go slow, but she doesn't _want_ to. They do go slow, but before she knows it they're both inside, and all she can smell is blood and sex and it's just too much and she's orgasming again, making it even easier for them to move inside her, and move they do.

Someone bites her shoulder, her insides clench and her men groan. They continue on like that for a short while, snarling, growling and rubbing—both her and each other. Then hands land on her waist digging claws into her skin, drawing her own blood. The world goes white as a third orgasm crashes over her, which is shortly followed by her men's.

The grass beneath them is soft and she finds herself half laying on it, half laying on which ever lover is behind her as her mind drifts. Clear as a bell she can hear chatting from dead around them reminding her vaguely of being in the cafeteria, and she's certain that if she focused she could follow the conversation. _So this is what it should be like_. It will certainly make her next lesson with Danu easier. Slowly the world returns. Peter shifts slightly underneath her, while Jordan nibbles on her shoulder. She feels lazy and sated and finds herself only vaguely bothered by the fact that there are still two penises inside her. Peter gives an annoyed grumble and she finds herself being lifted up.

Which was certainly one way to untangle them all, though it causes Jordan to bite Peter's chest in retaliation. Peter flashes his eyes and teeth, and Lydia decides it's perfectly alright to gape.

“Peter...your eyes...”

Panic, she can _feel_ it herself, ripples through him. “What?”

“They were red.” Which isn't possible. The only way for Peter to become an Alpha again would be killing another Alpha or stealing it, and as far as she knows he hasn't killed anyone since Kate, the second time.

Jordan blinks as he looks up at Peter. “I take it that's not normal.”

Lydia shakes her head. “No, at least...it shouldn't be. Flare your eyes again.”

Peter's eyes start to glow again, remaining this time. “I certainly don't feel like an Alpha.”

She laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Week: an explanation or two.
> 
> -  
> *hands out tissues for those who need it* oofff, there we have it folks, the emotional climax (basically) of the fic, I can only hope the actual climax measures up.
> 
> Chapter 31 should be up on Sunday if all goes well.


	31. Chapter 31

Peter feels, well he feels rejuvenated. Same as he had when he'd first returned to the land of the living, though where that had nearly drained him dry—without Lydia to lean on he's not sure he could have survived everything—this time he's overflowing with power. Enough to make him an Alpha, or near enough as to make no difference. Would his bite turn humans? What sort of extra boost would he get if wolves joined his pack, such as it was? Despite the surge in power, he doesn't feel like he had before, after clawing his way back to consciousness and tricking Laura to try and use her spark to heal him further, only to steal it from her. Then it had possibly felt more like a human on PCP or speed—though that's a guess on his part. Now it feels like an ocean surging through him, forceful and strong. He's sure if he's not careful enough it _will_ overwhelm him.

Funnily enough though this newfound power seems to fill the wounds he'd made in his own mind at Lydia's behest. It doesn't _heal_ them, not by a long shot. He no longer feels hollow and empty.

Flickers of worry and curiosity that are decidedly _not_ his dance around the edges his mind. Mentally he lashes out, after he remembered Talia's betrayal he swore to not let another into his mind, _ever_. Though, as always, Lydia seems to be his one exception. Lydia and Jordan flinch and Peter finds himself drawing back, hints of pain joining in.

“Peter, _stop_.” Somehow Lydia's anger puts him back on stable ground, despite the unsettling fact that he could feel it now as well as smell it, and he finds himself calming.

After a few moments of silence he finds himself giving in to the need to speak. “Sorry.” Do they know how rarely he says that? “Though I would much prefer it if you two stayed out of my mind.” It comes out angrier than he'd like, but he won't take it back. They all tense a little, each other's worries and fears feeding on one another. It can only get worse if they' don't somehow break it. So Peter finds himself reaching for his wolf, letting it's trust in Jordan and Lydia— _pack-_ equals-mates—calm him. He guesses them as well, a little. “What's going on?” This time he doesn't sound angry.

“I think.” Jordan shifts uncomfortably a little. “I think it has to do with the fact we just basically shattered the barriers between each other's minds.”

 _Falling, shards of his soul he rarely shared coming to light, understanding, earning love, enough!_ Peter shakes his head dog-like, knowing it's not enough to shake the sensations those memories bring but it's distraction enough that he can center himself again. “Is that what that was?”

Lydia shivers, but not out of cold. Disconcerting that he knows that. “Can we stop it? This is...this is too personal.” Peter agrees, while he still wants to be with both of them—Lydia's rules providing him with framework to prove it he hopes—he'd rather not live in their minds 24/7. Being in his own is bad enough sometimes. He can't imagine what they're getting from him.

Jordan shrugs. “Given enough time out walls should repair themselves, a psychotheurger could probably speed up the process. I'd say a day, maybe two tops. You should notice it less and less as time passes.” The resignation from Lydia comes to Peter in stereo. He feels relief though, that this won't last forever. That _all_ he's getting is emotions. He's not sure he'd be comfortable with being able to share thoughts with Lydia and Jordan, no matter how much he loves them.

He stiffens at that thought and Lydia and Jordan both look at him. “Peter?”

Shaking his head he says. “It's not important.” Except of course that it is. He just doesn't think Lydia would appreciate him saying that he loved her on the heels of what just happened. He needs to think more on it, let it work through his mind. Jordan looks at him speculatively, while Lydia's expression turns to practiced disinterest. Still neither of them press for an answer. In soothing silence they curl together in a lazy naked pile at the base of the yew. Despite the fact that it hasn't escaped Peter's notice Lydia's firmly put Jordan between them, Peter feels fairly content.

He watches as Lydia experimentally scrapes her nails against a patch of bark, and if Peter didn't feel so wrung out already he'd be a lot more interested in Jordan's arch and moan. “Stars Lydia.” He buries his face between her breasts. “Please don't do that right now.”

She takes her hand away moving it to instead run through Jordan's hair. “So _what_ exactly are you?” Peter finds himself curious as well. For all that the Argent's rely on their bestiary it's sparse once you get past the werewolf portions, and what he can remember from the now-ash Hale library not much was truly known about the fae. Being here has been a learning experience and a half for Peter. One that, despite the personal upheavals, he's enjoying immensely. Knowledge has always been a bit of a weakness for him. Perhaps he'll even write some of it down, though for what actual purpose he's not sure.

Jordan shifts upwards a little so his resting more against her shoulder. “Hamadryad, kind of. According to Morana and Asha I and...my sister are the lasts gifts of the Progenitor.”

“Progenitor?” Peter watches as goosebumps rise on Lydia's shoulder from Jordan's breath.

Jordan doesn't answer for a few seconds. “She is...was the first of us. She never told anyone her origins but we all...originate from her in some fashion.” His fingers curl against Lydia's side, and Peter finds himself strangely possessive by the fact they're close to the scars he gave her, not a bad sort of possessiveness. “You're descended from her too Lydia, though genetically. Unlike Yvonne.” His voice breaks a little. “Yvonne and I were the last fae she created before she vanished.”

His question of “vanished?” and Lydia's of “created?” clash between them.

Jordan rolls his eyes. “When the Progenitor first came here she was interested in all the different supernatural beings and studied them. She eventually realized that the dryads were dying out. So she sought to...recreate them. Her first attempt created Aldans.”

“So that's why you call him 'grandfather?” Lydia's hand smooths down Jordan's neck to rest in the middle of his back.

“Yes. She didn't consider it a success but still she was interested enough to let it continue existing. Then after a few hundred more years she finally worked out what she needed to do and Yvonne and I were born.” He gives a wan smile. “We were only just trees then, we didn't have human bodies until a hundred or so years later. By then the Progenitor had vanished, there one day gone the next. No one has any idea what happened.”

Lydia has a thoughtful look on her face, one Per knows all too well. “Did you choose to look like this, or did it just happen?”

The expression that crosses Jordan's face has Peter burying his own face in Jordan's shoulder to muffle his sniggers. He gets an elbow to the side for his troubles. “Sush you. And I honestly can't remember Lydia.”

While Peter appreciates the lighter mood that moment brought with it he does have a question of a more serious nature nipping at him. “So if your sister is the same as you, how exactly is she dead?” Jordan tries shift his legs off Peter, but Peter grips them tight stopping him. Unwilling to let him get away. His wolf's still riding close to the surface, and it wants his two pack-mates to stay close.

Gratefully Jordan quickly gives up. “She...we're not quite certain _how_ it happened, but it's like she's caught in an endless loop of dying. As long as there are bodies in her graveyard she'll still technically alive, but no one wants to find out what will happen to her if those bodies run out.

“It was just another war in the long line of many. I can't even recall who we were fighting or why. One of the opposing side... _hit_...her; except.” Jordan bares his teeth and Peter feels an echo of frustration. “That's not it accurately, I don't, I _can't_ think of the proper way to describe it. Her attacker _did_ something to her and she fell to the ground. At first I wasn't concerned, she and I had died before numerous times on various battlefields,”—Peter can feel Lydia stiffen—“and I expected her to soon rise up like before. Instead...instead she began convulsing.” Jordan manages to press his face between Lydia's breasts. Lydia resumes her hair stroking, making all sorts of soothing sounds, feeling a little lost on what to do himself Peter reaches out and begins petting the back of Jordan's neck—an action he's only ever used in sex before. Jordan shudders, and slumps, his voice sounding horse when he begins speaking again. “It was one of the few times in my life when I've truly been afraid.”

He and Lydia look at each other, silently agreeing that they've dealt with their problem enough for them both to be there for Jordan, and as one they press closer to him, offering comfort.

—

Jordan's breath ghosts across Lydia's shoulders in a soothing manner, and she does her best not to start when Peter's arms wrap around her, and thus Jordan. In between them Jordan relaxes, thankfully accepting their comfort. She'd like to say she understands, but she really doesn't. She doesn't know how close Jordan and his sister were, but it's clear her death still affects him.

Behind him Peter buries his face at the nape of Jordan's neck, nosing the skin there. Jordan's head lolls back as Peter hums. “Like something you didn't even realize you had suddenly gets torn from you.” She has to wonder if he still has enough residual memory that he's talking about the fire, of it he's talking about her taking his memories. He _agreed_ to that, he can't regret it already.

One of Jordan's arms slides around her waist while the other wraps around one of Peter's. “Can you both just hold me for a while?”

“Of course Jordan,” she soothes. Getting one of her hands between him and Peter and rubbing it up and down his back, the other threads itself into his hair. Even after everything she has to admit it feels nice to be held like this.

Later they unwillingly untangle and get dressed as best they can. She's lucky the robe was easy to take off and survived serious mangling. Peter's shirt and Jordan's pant's however...well shredded's an apt term. She finds herself smiling fondly as she listens to Peter and Jordan bicker about clothes. She's not going to fool herself into thinking everything's fixed and better now. She and Peter have a ways to go before they could even be remotely what they were. There is a sort of comfort between them that wasn't there before. Though the sparks and flickers of their emotions might take some getting used to.

Around them the dead chatter quietly, too quietly for her to properly hear. At the moment she hardly cares, the fact that she _can_ hear them is enough for now.

On impulse she looks up at the yew. Some of it's, or should she be saying 'his'?, branches are well and truly in full bloom, waiting for pollinators that will never come. Others still are bursting with little red arils, one of which is right above her. Reaching up she plucks three of them. Very carefully she extracts the seeds and tosses them away. Walking back to Peter and Jordan she offers them each an aril. Peter takes one and gives it an almost delicate sniff, causing her to huff in amusement. While Jordan takes his more gingerly. “Are you sure about this?”

“I wouldn't have picked them if I wasn't. Neither of us are leaving you anytime soon Erwann.” The use of his true name deliberate choice. “You're just going to have to get used to that.” Without any other preamble she pops the aril in her mouth, enjoying the sweet taste as it almost melts in her mouth.

—

Acting like furtive teenagers, something Peter's sure he's never actually been, they hurriedly make their way back to their rooms. Once there Lydia strips off the tattered remains of the robe she's been wearing and got properly dressed. “Going somewhere?” Jordan asks, while Peter falls back onto the bed.

Lydia nods. “Yes. I should be back,” she frowns. “What time is it?”

Jordan cocks his head. “About four thirty.” Hmm, that would explain why Peter feels like he could use a nap.

“Then I'll try to be back before breakfast.” Buzzing with purpose and not waiting for a response Lydia leaves.

Considering the time Peter is more than happy to do nothing more than lie on their massive bed. Maybe later he’ll give in to the urge to go somewhere relatively private and explore how exactly whatever they did changed him. For now he needs to recover from what happened a few hours ago. Stay stable enough that he remembers what it feels like and can return to it.

“Hey.” Jordan’s supple body slots itself against his back. “We should talk.” Not only can Peter smell the worry and apprehension on Jordan, he can _feel_ it too—a sensation Peter’s liking less and less. Though it's much fainter than the emotions he'd been getting earlier, so it's good to know Jordan's guess is right. Whatever mental joining they'd done would eventually fade away.

He shifts around onto his back and faces Jordan. Managing to insinuate the hand caught between them under the other man. “About what?” He tugs him closer, just enjoying the contact.

He’s grateful that Jordan allows it. “Lydia.”

“What about her?” Peter’s pretty sure he’s not going to like where this conversation goes. Especially considering Jordan waited to have it _after_ Lydia left, meaning Lydia probably wouldn't like this conversation either.

Jordan shifts closer, keeping eye contact all the while. “Not about-about her, but us in relation to her I guess. Just a proposal of what either of us might do if a certain situation occurs.”

None of which is really helping the uneasy roil in Peter. “What situation?” He could hope that it would be something nice like children, or some other such banal domesticity, but he knows better.

“When the solstice comes we’ll be formally introduced as her consorts. There might be a few who think that if they kidnap one of us they’ll be able to make her do what they want.” No, he’s not going to like this at all, though he can see why they need to talk about it. “I was going to propose you and I make a deal about it right now. That we’ll try and rescue each other, but if that is somehow impossible then we make the hard call so she doesn’t have to choose between love and duty.”

Part of Peter wants to make some sarcastic, sly comment about how killing each other is a little extreme, but he bites his tongue to stop it. Jordan’s being serious here and deserves the same from Peter. Still he balks at the idea, killing one of them so Lydia doesn’t have to perhaps do something she doesn’t want to _is_ extreme. Something alien and completely against Peter’s wolfish nature. He buries his face in the crook of Jordan's neck. Inhaling deeply, anchoring himself in the now. “Is that really something that could happen?” He knows _he_ wouldn't want to tangle with a pissed off Lydia—any more than he already has—let alone Morana feeling the same way. Either should be deterrent enough, surely, from such an occurrence.

“Who can say.” Jordan shrugs. “It _is_ in the realm of possibility. The queen believes that that's why Lydia was kidnapped in the first place, but it somehow didn't work out.” He sounds contemplative, as if some new shred of information is making him question that.

It hardly matters to Peter though, dwelling on 'what ifs' never sat well with Peter. Even more now that his memories of Sarah and her pregnancy have been returned to him. Returning to the subject at hand. “This seems like a bit of a one-sided agreement Erwann, considering you won't stay dead.” He's not ashamed to admit he's a little jealous, Peter had spent so much precious time researching a way to survive death. What he'd found had only been something that could only be done once, and it might not have worked even then. Yet he'd still been desperate enough to try.

Jordan tilted his head. “I thought...Lydia said she helped resurrect you.” It's not exactly an accusation.

“Yes, but that was more a 'one ticket per person' type deal. Won't work a second time.” The world would be so nice if it could've worked more than once.

“Oh,” Jordan's breath ruffles his hair. “I, sorry.” An exasperated huff of laughter escapes him. “Alright, so a little more work on that idea then.”

Peter joins in for a few seconds. “If it comes down too it I've grown quite adept at withstanding torture.” Something for the resume to be sure. “If they get maniacal enough to send you body parts I can always heal them back on when I come back.” He wiggles his left ring finger. Werewolf healing was good for something after all. Granted he's never had to try with anything larger than a finger, and he's quite likely to bleed out before he has any chance of reattachment if the person doing the dismemberment isn't all that good. He's just grateful that the Calaveras were nice enough not to rub wolfsbane into the wound, prevent him from reattaching completely.

Jordan doesn't say anything but does snatch up Peter's hand, pulling it close to get a better look at it. “If you wanted to know my ring size you can just ask.” Peter's more than happy to steer this conversation to lighter waters.

His tart remark earns him a look from Jordan, who quickly returns his gaze to Peter's ring finger. “You can kind of tell.” Peter's not sure if Jordan's talking out loud or to Peter himself. Delicately Jordan traces the barely noticeable scar. He's right of course, it does stand out a little from his regular skin tone, but not by much. It's thin enough that a ring would in fact hide it. An idea he's not sure he wants to entertain right now. He enjoys mostly undefined nature of their relationship, and knows all too well what a big step even proposing the possibility of marriage might be.

Back in college when Sarah had returned two months after their one night stand and told him she was pregnant she'd also told him she wasn't the marrying type. That had suited him just fine back then. Now thought. Now he doesn't know.

—

Lydia finds it strange that less than eight hours has passed since she was last in front of this door and yet so much has changed. This time she doesn't hesitate when she knocks. Danu opens even faster than she did before. “Hello again,” either her voice is quieter or Lydia's misremembering their first meeting. The older woman's head tilts a little. “You have changed.” It's not a question.

“Yes, I confronted the one who was draining my powers and we...resolved the issue.” In as much Lydia thinks the issue can be resolved between her and Peter, the initial clearing of the air will probably do wonders to their later interactions. “I can hear whispering now, all over the place, and all the time.”

Inclining her head Danu steps aside. “Then we shall have another lesson. Have a seat.” As Lydia passes it's hard not to miss the whispers coming from a bracelet she somehow missed seeing the last time she was here.

' _She hears, will she speak?'_

' _Mama.'_

_'Hold me.'_

The whispers Lydia's heard haven't really given away much to indicate gender, age, or accent. They're monotone and nigh-emotionless. Which had started to make her think it was a trait of all ghosts, dead, whatever it is she's really hearing.

Those three voices sound like children.

Hoping Danu doesn't notice how shaken up that makes her feel she does so while Danu herself vanishes into a doorway that somehow escaped Lydia's notice the first time. She returns soon, a good sized box in her hands. She sets the box between them before taking the opposite seat.

“Now that you have access to your necromancy, we can step briefly into the other aspect of our power, necrotheurgy.”

“What is the difference?” Lydia doesn't feel bad for interrupting, if she can't ask questions how can she learn?

A sharp, but very brief huff leaves Danu. “Perhaps you should learn patience as well Lydia.” She hadn't even realized Danu knew her name—it was probably rude of her not to introduce herself earlier. “If you had waited a few seconds I would have begun to tell you.” Chastised Lydia slumps a little into her chair. Satisfied Danu continues. “Necromancy is listening to the dead to divine the future. Necrotheurgy is... _using_ the dead as it were, controlling corpses, raising skeletons.”

So what pop culture thinks necromancy is, Lydia muses. Instead of speaking she nods to show she understands.

“To start off we shall get you acclimatized to sensing the dead, and telling the difference between remains.” Imperceptibly the box moves closer to Lydia. “There are many bones in the box, tell me their number, and how many skeletons they came from. Start with the same process I told you of the other day, grab that sense inside of you and send it into the box.”

Closing her eyes Lydia takes a deep breath, as she exhales she reaches for her powers. The jump eagerly to her call and easily flood her with numbness. She gathers as much of it up as she can and for a few seconds she feels torn between just 'tossing' it at the box, or trying to shape it into something that might better suit the task. In the end she takes the middle road, weaving her power into a loose net of sorts and opening her eyes inexpertly throws it over the box, mentally picturing the net sinking into the box and touching the bones inside.

Awareness of them jumps into her forethought, and she has to close her eyes again or risk getting nauseous. Maybe there was something to Danu's insistence of closing her eyes earlier. With her eyes closed she finds she has a better sense of what's inside anyways. It's a little eerie really, how she can tell that's an ulna, and that's a skull, and there's a carpal. She forces her mind to stop identifying the bones and try to count them. Doing it individually will take far too long, so she does her best to shift her power a bit to try and touch every bone in there. She's not sure if she actually gets them all, but it works in a way and she gets a number. “There are one hundred and eighty two bones in there.”

“And the skeletons they came from?” If Lydia could focus on anything besides the bones she would be annoyed that she didn't get a 'correct' or 'incorrect' right away.

It definitely weirds Lydia out a little though that she can tell some of the bones are male and some are female, without even having laid eyes on them. “I...I don't know, I can tell there's at least one male and one female, but I can't quite differentiate more than that.”

“Sink your power deeper than the surface, let the insides speak to you. They will tell you what you need to know.” Danu's tone is understanding.

Lydia does her best. The first bone she gets nearly shocks her, literally, out of the quasi-trance she's in, it's...it's still _alive_ after a fashion. Little bits of stray energy caught in the marrow, and transferring a bit of themselves into her. With each new bone the same thing happens, though each 'spark' is decidedly different. “Six,” she declares. She withdraws her powers and opens her eyes to see Danu staring at her.

After far longer than Lydia would like Danu speaks. “Correct on the number of skeletons, however there are only one hundred and eighty _one_ bones in the box. An excellent first go regardless.” Danu stands, picks up the box, and walks off. When she returns she is holding a single bone in her hands. “When you were separating out the skeletons you felt the sparks yes?”

Lydia nods. “It wasn't what I was expecting at all.”

Danu's lips actually twitch. “Indeed. Those sparks are what will allow you to raise the bodies of the dead. The older the body the fewer the sparks, the fewer times you will be able to call on them for use. A new body you could use up to ten times before it starts to disintegrate. An older body may only get you one use before it turns to dust.” She puts the bone in Lydia's hand. “How old is it?”

Focusing again Lydia sinks her power into the bone, this time the magic leaping into her even faster than before. She finds herself absently grateful that Peter's held to their deal; even subconsciously. “Over a hundred, I think.”

Across from her Danu makes a sound, but when Lydia looks up she sees the other woman's shoulders fall a little. “It is well over three hundred, but we will work more on that later.” Inside Lydia feels a stab of frustration, she can't even remember the last time she failed at something. It's galling to have fallen so short now. _How could you?_ The snap of Danu's fingers brings her out of her berating, and she sees the woman's hand extended. “Do you have any questions?”

Lydia hands the bone back. “Why can't I really hear the dead here? I mean I can tell that they're talking but I don't catch the words.” It's like she's always hearing conversations from down the hall; when she'd been thinking she'd be able to hear them better than that.

“Ah.” Danu hums a snatch of music for a brief second. “That would be because they're being used up. Erwann is ever hungry. When you go to the Summer Court you will find the same situation there.”

Those words don't put a fear of Jordan in her, but they are disconcerting. But she presses on. “So it's only here and there that I won't be able to hear them?”

“Yes.” Danu gives a sharp nod. “Or any other place where the dead are being used up in some fashion. Though places like that are few and far between since the fall of the Dark Court.” That doesn't make much sense to Lydia, but before she can think of what questions to ask next her stomach rumbles, reminding her she's been up for a long time and hasn't eaten since dinner. Danu makes a lazy gesture. “Go on. I'm sure more opportunities will arise for me to teach you.”

Lydia stands, gives a good approximation of a curtsy—though for all she knows she got some minor thing wrong—and leaves. Intent on getting breakfast, and some time to mull over the new things she's learned.

—

While on the surface things between the three of them, or more specifically between Peter and Lydia, seem to have gone back to normal, Jordan lives beneath that surface and he knows more than what the rest of the Court sees. Lydia will still let Peter touch her, sometimes, but for the past two nights when they turned in for sleep Jordan always ended up in the middle. A quasi-effective barrier. Neither of them have initiated sex, not when the other is there. Lydia seems more than happy to have Peter stand by her side when she's speaking with those petitioning to join her retinue. She rarely tries to draw him into the conversation, or ask his thoughts on this person or that.

Part of Jordan aches at that. Though Lydia's been kind enough to only ask him his opinions when they're nowhere near Peter. Nor did she protest the times when Peter, sometimes with Jordan's help, threw out those fae who seemed to have forgotten the meaning of 'no'. It's true that he's seen worse lovers feuds, but he's never been caught between said lovers before.

He's doing his best though, being there for Lydia or Peter when they need him. They both know he loves them and would do almost anything for either of them. So far they haven't tried to use him against each other, not that he would allow himself to be used like that anyways. He's not a toy for them to fight over. Still he needs a break, and finds himself retreating to the one spot where he knows at least other fae won't bother him.

His branches shake in greeting, sending flower petals and dried needles falling to the ground, as he steps into the cemetery, all of his tensions and worries leech away as he steps up to his own soul. Roots rise up and shift, making the perfect hollow for him to curl up in. The moment skin touches bark awareness of the whole cemetery leaps into his mind, and he gives a contented hum as he makes himself comfortable in his root-bower. If he had the time, and the inclination, he could count each and every one of the dead. Know exactly how many deaths he had left before he needed to actually start worrying. Despite the dead being Lydia's domain this place will only ever be his.

That's not something he's really concerned with a the moment. He's more than happy to lose himself in himself, and just _be_ for a short time. Feel the pseudo-sun on his leaves, the way his roots suck water from the aquifer below and nutrients from the dead interred in the ground into his sapwood, sap rushing through his phloem like blood. The sounds of himself living, helping himself to grow, fueling—in part—this human form he also wears.

The beating of his flesh heart slows, taking on the rhythm of his flowing sap. His breathing also slows, becomes almost non-existent. His leaves breath enough for both halves. He closes his eyes and just _exists_. It's soothing. Though as always he wonders what it would be like if he could rejoin with the tree like real dryads could. He and Yvonne could only ever achieve this synchronicity. Neither of them could figure out if it was intentional or not. Then again, he might go mad if he did manage to join with himself and then never be able to split again. Aldans had only ever been plant and never flesh and blood. Jordan's been both and he doesn't want to give up the world of experiences being flesh and blood gives you.

The cemetery doors open and Jordan-Erwann feels his queen's measured steps on the main path. Opening his eyes he sits up and turns to greet her. “Good day Your Majesty.”

If she's surprised by him being here it never shows in her neutral expression, though little does. There's a running rumor that since Hjörtur died no one's actually seen her face, just a glamoured mask. Jordan-Erwann's never been inclined to find out if it's true, or face what punishment he might receive if he did something as bold as touch the queen without her permission. “The same to your sir Erwann. Preparing yourself for tomorrow?” She inclines her head towards him and his bower.

Ah, yes. The Summer Solstice seems to have snuck up on him this year. The number of revels already happening is probably staggering. “I hadn't intended to Your Majesty, though it could be said that I am.” After all he did come here to have some quiet time to reflect.

Her gaze drifts away from him to a cluster of gravestones nearby. “I see. Do you believe Lydia is ready for tomorrow?”

He gives a slow shrug. “I don't believe I can say Your Highness. Though Lydia acts like she does.” Sometimes that was enough to satisfy the fae, but with so much riding on the Solstices these past few centuries even the smallest mistake could spell disaster. He's not sure if he should be offended or pleased she didn't ask after Peter as well. Then again Peter has a much smaller part to play than Lydia does.

“It will have to be enough.” She nods decisively. “Good day sir Erwann.” She turns and begins walking down a path, towards Hjörtur's grave no doubt.

For some reason he nearly calls out to her, but he manages to hold himself back. Even when he officially becomes Lydia's consort he has no right to impose upon the queen like that when she's clearly ended the conversation. Giving her her privacy he returns to his bower, intent on an hour's rest before returning to the wider world. As he slips back into himself a familiar swirl of nerves and excitement passes through both parts of him; everything will change tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Week: The Summer Solstice
> 
> -
> 
> PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, for the love of everything do _not_ eat/drink/consume in any way any part of the yew. It's _highly_ poisonous and will kill you! The only part that isn't poisonous is the airl, and that still has a poisonous seed in it. So just, please, don't try that at home.
> 
> And yes, Jordan really is a tree.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much for understanding about me needing a break, leaving WK alone for a few weeks really helped me get focused again.

The heavily embossed silver doors to the Summer Court loom above the assembled Winter Court. Just barely Jordan can feel Lydia, standing just a little ahead of him next to her mother, and her amazed wonder at the sight of them. He hopes she remembers not to stare at them too long, they have a tendency to draw in unwary eyes and not let go. Her gaze soon darts to her mother though and he gives a little internal sigh or relief.

Her and her mother make an unusual pair standing next to each other. Lydia in her blue-gray dress with it's armor-esque bodice, red hair pulled back into a complicated braid, her crown pointedly the only piece of jewelry she wears. Even with her heels Lydia just barely reaches her mother's shoulder. The queen herself stands tall and proud, though Jordan-Erwann can't quite tell if the black fur and plaid outfit she wears is a coat or a dress. Her black hair is in the same braid as Lydia's and her icicle crown makes her stand out, even amongst those twice her height.

Next to him Peter clanks and Jordan-Erwann has to bite back a smile at the sight of Peter in armor. “How much longer are we going to have to stand here?” Peter grouses. Luckily the hall is filled with chatter, so only he, Lydia, and the queen probably hear the question.

“Everything in it's time,” the queen answers calmly. “Asha will let us in when she's ready.”

Nerves just barely fizz in his mind, most likely from Lydia, and easy enough to ignore now if he so chose to. Instead he reaches out and squeezes her hand. Before he can say anything though a groan fills the room and with measured slowness the doors before them begin to open.

Lydia's wonder as they step into the throne room of the Summer Court is palatable, then again even he finds it beautiful after seeing it century after century. Everything is lush and overgrown, a jungle of plants that have no real right in growing in the same climate, let alone the same place. But this is summer where overabundance sat side by side with wasteland.

Erwann-Jordan feels conspicuously noisy in his armor—more from lack of wear in the past decade than anything else; on the other hand compared to Peter, who doesn't look all that pleased in his own, he's downright silent, as they follow Morana's trail of snow towards the dais. Behind them Winter fae begin to mingle with Summer and the whispers begin, most of them about Lydia. Seemingly above it all is Asha and her sons Nikephoros and Sparrow.

The Summer queen looks resplendent in a flowery pink gown, warm umber skin glowing in the light, and her own black hair piled on her head probably in some complex fashion. Below and to her right lounges her heir Sparrow in a dark red-brown suit that made his pale skin look stark—not that it needed much help thanks to his short black hair. Nikephoros, sitting a few feet from his twin brother, meanwhile was just as dark as his mother and dressed in a rich green tunic, his bald head seemed to act like a mirror for the surrounding light.

They reach the dais, and he, Peter and Lydia bow and curtsy respectively while the queen remains standing. Her head tilts slightly when she speaks. “A glorious Solstice to you sister.”

Queen Asha stands and descends the steps. “For you perhaps sister,” her voice is river smooth and utterly calming. “But now we must mourn summer's end.” She comes to a stop before Morana. Making it obvious they're both the same height. Her sunny gold eyes flicker to Lydia. “Who is this Morana?”

“This Asha dear.” She makes a gesture and Lydia steps forward, out of his and Peter's reach. “Is my daughter Lydia.”

Lydia curtsies again. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you aunt Asha.”

A heartbeat later queen Asha holds out her hand for Lydia to take. Without even hesitating, and Jordan-Erwann feels so proud of her for that, she does so. Queen Asha lifts the hand to her face and inspects it as if it will tell her everything about Lydia. For all he knows it might, he's never really entertained thoughts of what the Summer queen's secondary powers might be, if she even had any. “A pleasure to meet you as well my niece.” She drops Lydia's hand and her gaze flicks beyond them. “My sister and I must speak.” The combined courts quiet as queen Asha speaks to them. “The usual ceremonies will thus begin in half an hour.”

A questioning murmur begins in the crowd, but no one steps forward to give voice to it. Nodding queen Asha and Morana exit through a side door. Jordan-Erwann sees Sparrow and Nikephoros stand, and he has a good idea that the twins intend to sweep Lydia up in their chatter until the ritual starts, but before they can even get halfway down the steps Jordan-Erwann's taken her's and Peter's hands and begins pulling them back into the milling crowd.

He usually reserves his visit to Yvonne until after the ceremony, but this Solstice he thinks this will be the only time he has to do it.

“Jordan, Jordan. Erwann, _stop_.” Lydia snaps at him. It takes him a moment to realize he's been dragging the both of them behind him without realizing it. He flushes as he stops and lets go.

Quickly he turns to face the both of them. “Sorry, I got...” He's not quite sure how to describe the driving feeling with in him, so instead he just ducks his head. “Sorry.” He wonders what echoes they might be getting from him right now.

“What is it Jordan?” Concern fills Peter's voice.

Taking a bracing breath he picks his words carefully. “I had thought you both might like to meet my sister, while we have the time.” As the words slip from his mouth he realizes he's never asked any of his other lovers if they wanted to do that. Seeing Yvonne every Summer Solstice had always been a private affair for him.

Lydia gives a bare smile. “I would love to Jordan.”

“Sure,” Peter agrees. “Just don't decide to demonstrate you're stronger than me next time.” He doesn't sound angry, which is good. Then again Jordan-Erwann himself hadn't realized he'd be able to drag Peter around. Especially since Peter's still testing the limits of the power he gained at the cemetery. This time when he takes their hands he leads them off to a nearby copse of trees at a more sedate pace.

Unlike him, who's tucked out of the way, Yvonne's here in the throne room, if slightly off to the side. Also unlike him she's guarded.

“Halt.” Vlad steps into the path they've just started on, sword at the ready. He hasn't changed much since Jordan last saw him; his black hair has been pulled back into a braid, and he's shaved, making his green eyes even more stark against pale skin and craggy features, his thin armor doesn't even clank as he moves.

Vlad sheaths his sword, but doesn't leave the path. “Who are these Erwann?” He crosses his arms, Jordan can't tell if he's genuinely curious or if his nature's dictating the question.

“These are Lydia and Peter my, lovers.” Jordan can feel the blush staining his cheeks. “I was going to introduce them to Yvonne. We won't be long.” He hopes.

The other man steps closer. “I don't see the point brother, as always she sleeps in death.”

Jordan feels his shoulders slump. “I know that Vlad, but they should still meet.” He stops for a second, then: “I should complete the introductions.”

“That would be appreciated,” Peter's tone is dry.

Lydia squeezes his hand as he blushes again. “Lydia, Peter, this is my brother-in-law, Vlad Dracula the third, Yvonne's husband.”

Letting go of his hand Lydia steps forward hand extended. “Wonderful to meet you.” Nothing about her bearing suggests she's surprised at meeting someone she had no knowledge of beforehand, when she probably should have. Though if she didn't recognize the name he'd run naked through the court.

Vlad takes her hand, raising it up to his mouth to kiss. “Charmed to meet you at last Your Highness.”

Jordan feels his lips twitching a little at Vlad's usual charm. “Vlad, these are Her Royal Highness Lydia, Princess of Winter, and Peter Hale.”

Letting go of Lydia's hand Vlad nods at Peter, who's growling slightly. Jordan-Erwann barely manages to bite back a snort of amusement. He hopes Peter doesn't do anything stupid, in a toe-to-toe fight he's not quite sure which of them would win; Peter probably has more power, but Vlad's feared for a reason. Thankfully it becomes a moot point when Vlad speaks again. “Have your visit, but as always be careful Erwann.” With that Vlad melts back into the undergrowth.

They've only gone about one or two more steps before Lydia starts asking questions. Not that he can blame her. “Was that really Dracula?” A sliver of excited nerves that's probably from her wiggles in his mind.

This time it's easier to hold back his amusement. “Yes.” Even though he's eager to see Yvonne, it's been nearly twenty years after all since his last visit, he finds himself slowing down. Lydia and Peter catching up to walk at his sides instead of behind him.

Lydia's nose wrinkles as she thinks on something. “He felt dead.”

“That would be because he is.” It'd taken him and Yvonne working together in a way they never had before to bring Vlad back to the half-life he currently lived. Though neither of them could really do more than a surface healing on his neck.

“Bullshit, vampires don't exist.” He's not sure if Peter means to sound offended or angry.

Jordan-Erwann heaves a sigh. “He's not a vampire.” Granted Vlad wasn't exactly what you'd call a zombie either. “There isn't exactly a word for what he is,” or not one that he and Yvonne had ever found; they closest they'd come was aptrgangr.

Arriving at Yvonne forestalls anymore questions however; and Erwann finds himself staring as much as Peter and Lydia. Yvonne is a yew just as ancient and massive as himself. Where he's healthy and fully of life Yvonne looks dried and worn, branches nearly bare of needles, and on the whole looking like the slightest breeze would shatter her.

“Is she supposed to look like that?” Lydia asks softly.

Erwann shakes his head. “No, well, kind of.” She is after all his opposite, Death-in-life, but her current state has wreaked havoc on her tree-self in a way it hasn't her physical body. Speaking of. The familiar glass coffin at the base of Yvonne has more roots on it than the last time he'd seen her, they now cover the bottom half almost completely. Inside Yvonne sleeps as peacefully as one who is constantly dying can. Her arrow straight tawny brown hair is mostly hidden under her body, but the rest of it frames her delicate face. Her eyes flicker behind closed lids.

For a moment there's only silence between them, the Erwann whispers: “Lydia, Peter. This is my sister Yvonne, Summer's Yew knight and Death-in-life.” He finds himself choking up about halfway through, but he manages not to cry.

Lydia and Peter's hands move, trailing up to his shoulders to squeeze them. Slowly Lydia's other hand moves to rest on the coffin. “Hello Yvonne,” something Erwann can't quite identify flickers across Lydia's face. “I wish we could truly meet.”

At his other side Peter remains silent.

Erwann takes a deep, shuddering breath, looks at his lovers, then back to Yvonne. “Could I have some time alone with her please?”

“Yes,” Peter finally speaks. His hand falls from Erwann's shoulder and he feels the other man take a step back. “Lydia?” He can't see Peter, but it's not hard to guess he's offering a hand.

She squeezes his shoulder once last time before rising up to lay a gentle kiss on his cheek. “We'll see you later,” the way she says it sounds like a promise and he nods.

He manages to keep the rising tide of emotion in him down until the sounds of the two of them leaving die down. The moment all he can hear are jungle sounds he's falling on his knees, arms and head coming to rest across the coffin. Tears leek from his eyes. “I miss you _c'hoar_.”

—

For the moment Peter doesn't bother to speak to Lydia, not that he'd know what to say, instead focusing on getting them back to the main area. Lydia follows docilely, her mind clearly elsewhere. So it's probably a good thing he can't think of something to say. He has to wonder if she's as rattled as him meeting Yvonne. Despite Lydia's request he hadn't been able to get _every_ memory she'd wanted, and those silvers of his coma have him commiserating with Yvonne. Granted her coma's been centuries longer than his own. They soon make it back out onto the main floor. A few gazes turn to them, but most are wrapped up in their own conversations. “Lydia?” He's not sure what he means to ask, this is the longest they've been alone together since they made their deal. He doesn't know what she wants. His wants are easy: them safe and curled around him so every breath brings him the smells of winter, sap, and flowers.

Lydia's hand slides from his hand and up to his elbow. “Let's just wander around for now, Erwann will find us when he finishes. I'm sure by then the ceremonies my aunt mentioned will be starting.”

His heart pounds. He doesn't respond as the two of them begin to meander through the crowd. Any Winter fae that see them give little gestures of respect, the Summer just stare. Lydia seems unmoved by all of it. He finds he's desperate to ask what's on her mind, but he hold it back afraid of rejection.

Those thoughts get shoved to the side by the arrival of the Summer Queen's sons. They seem to be a study in opposites, save that they both have their mother's sun-gold eyes—though the darker one's eyes have fiery flares of orange. The two of them bow ostentatiously, giving matching smiles to Lydia as they rise. “Hello coz,” the paler one says boisterously. “I'm Sparrow, and this is my brother Nikephoros.”

Nikephoros smiles and offers a hand. “I'd prefer you call me Nik.” He's not as loud as his brother, but his voice carries.

Peter's wolf doesn't like them, but he can live with that.

She takes Nik's hand and gives them both a smile. “Lydia, and this is Peter.”

“Tell me true coz, you settling in alright? Winter's not too cold for you?” Sparrow gives an exaggerated shiver. “Don't know how you stand that, can't bear the cold.” Before he can say anything else Nik slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Feel free to ignore him,” Nik says with a faint smile. “He hasn't quite yet learned to shut up.” Now _why_ did that sound familiar?

Lydia snorts. “No apologies necessary, I've gone to school with worse.” Mmm yes, Stilinski and McCall.

Sparrow fidgets, attempting to break his brother's hold, but it doesn't seem to be working all that well. “You grew up with humans? No wonder no one could find you.” Nik's tone is curious, but not insistent.

“Yes, it was an...interesting day when Erwann told me what I was.” Peter certain he's as insterested as the other two about that, it's not exactly something they've ever talked about.

Finally Sparrow breaks Nik's grip and gives a lecherous smile. “Is it true you-” Nik's hand quickly reasserts dominance. Which coupled with Peter's growl finally seems to have an effect on the boy.

“Is it true I have two lovers?” Lydia, wondrous Lydia, doesn't even appear ruffled by the intimate question. “Yes, though beyond that it's none of your business.”

Nik inclines his head. “Well played cousin. Now if you'll excuses us I believe I see our mother.” He drags his brother away, and he finds himself sharing bemused looks.

A burst of daring fills Peter at the shared expression and he brings Lydia's hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it. Pleased when she doesn't scold him. “Shall we continue on or try to find somewhere to rest?” There aren't as many tables and chairs in this place as there is in the dining hall, granted there are so many fae here that the room would have to be at least twice as big to accommodate enough chairs for everyone.

“Wander,” she answers. “I want to see more of the Summer Court.” Her wish was his command. Lowering her hand he returned it to the crook of his elbow and let her lead him where ever she pleased. For the most part they kept to themselves, Lydia only conversing with people who approached them. It passes the time, and soon enough Jordan's found them again; something about him looking more relaxed.

Moving close Peter gives Jordan a peck on the cheek. “Welcome back.”

Jordan gives a sort of wobbly smile and returns the kiss, before ducking down to give Lydia the same. “Thanks for giving me time.” He glances behind them. “Looks like the queens have gotten started.”

At that both he and Lydia turn to see what's happening. He doesn't know about Lydia but Peter just manages to see a space being cleared away in the middle of the room, the queens marking out a space of some sort. “What's happening?” Lydia sounds impatient, most likely because she can see even less than he can.

Luckily Jordan starts talking before Peter can try and come up with an explanation for what little he's seen. “The queens are marking off the circle for the ceremony.” Jordan takes both of their hands, his shoulders squaring like he's expecting something to happen. Between one heartbeat and the next the fae surge towards the circle, seemingly desperate to get as close to that line as they can. The near-constant battering has Peter's wolf on edge. “Follow me,” Jordan shouts.

He doesn't wait for a response before pulling them against the tide of fae, and Peter hopes he knows where he's going. Lydia looks harried, while Peter finds himself relaxing a fraction as they finally break free. “Why is everyone trying to get close?” It feel like it's more than trying to get a good view of whatever's going to happen.

“It's considered good luck to get hit by the blood splatter.” Jordan's tone sounds disbelieving, like he's conveying a story he doesn't actually think is true.

Peter finds himself intrigued. “Really?”

Lydia narrows her eyes as they head towards the tree-line. “No.”

It's not like Peter was going to suggest they head back into the crowd. He'd just thought normal run of the mill fae, if such a concept actually existed, wouldn't be so into blood-sport.

Apparently trusting that neither of them are going to wander off Erwann lets got of the both of them and places his hands on the large tree they've come to a stop at. He closes his eyes and he breaths out, at first nothing seems to happen but then as Peter watches the tree shifts and grows shallow shelves the perfect size for a hand or a foot. Jordan opens his eyes and turns back to them. “Come on, we'll get a better view up here.” He begins to climb.

Next to Peter Lydia sigh. “I haven't climbed a tree since I was, like, ten.” Her eyes are narrowed at the tree, like she expects it to somehow change again.

Not feeling her hesitation Peter pops his claws and climbs the first few feet, before looking down at Lydia. “Don't worry sweetheart, we won't let anyone stare up your skirts,” he might get in trouble for it but he can't resist the teasing jibe.

“Thanks for reminding me,” she snaps, but in her anger she marches up to the tree and begins to haul herself up.

Keeping an eye on her, if need be he can carry her up even if she doesn't like it, Peter finishes his own climb, reaching the branch Jordan's straddling. Jordan's stopped at an inopportune spot, so Peter nudges his shoulder. “Scoot up.”

“No,” Jordan shakes his head. “If we're sitting in front of Lydia she won't be able to see.”

“How considerate,” Lydia answers dryly from right behind Peter. “If that's the case then boost me up.” She jabs the small of Peter's back.

With some good natured grumbling he turns and grabbing her waist hauls her up, Jordan takes her arms as she rises and settles her into his lap. Peter's not sure if that's clever or practical. She gives him a questioning glance and he arches an eyebrow. “What, do you want to ruin your dress from getting down to the far end?” Practical then. Jordan doesn't wait for her reply before sliding them both towards the end of the branch. Leaving Peter to try and figure out how to follow after them in a full suit of armor. He decides on an awkward looking shuffle, which while not dignified gets the job done. Jordan's right, their current perch affords them an excellent view of the circle and the jostling crowd around it.

In the circle Asha and Morana stand opposite each other, both clearly waiting for something. On Asha's side Peter notices Nik begin to shove his way through the crowd, carrying something. On Morana's side he sees Myst doing the same. Lydia speaks up first. “What's going to happen?”

“The trading of powers, the shift from Summer to Winter.” The crowd seems to finally notice the two men forcing their way in and part for them, since they're on Asha's 'side' he can't tell what Nik is carrying, but Myst seems to be carrying a sword. Not a giant claymore or longsword, this appears much thinner and more delicate.

“They do it by dueling?” Peter's surprised. It' feeling more and more like a territory dispute than a centuries old ritual.

Jordan doesn't say anything as Lydia shifts around on his lap to try and get a better view. Soon though his hands come up around her waist and stop her. “Please stop that. Yes, it's a duel.” In the circle Morana and Asha both take up their blades, unsheathing them and testing the edges. “They fight until the other is almost dead,” Jordan continues as Peter watches while Morana and Asha circle each other, testing the weights of their blades.

Shock flickers across Lydia's face. “Why?”

Peter answers before Jordan can. “Because the Earth must be fed.” _That_ much he remembers from old stories of human sacrifice and desperation. Blood was the very essence of life after all. It only made sense that blood would need to be spilled to ensure the courts continued.

Now Jordan's the one who's shocked. “Yes,” he agrees belatedly.

They, and the whole assembly, fall silent as a bell rings out. In the circle Asha and Morana still, waiting for the other to make the first move. “Before the collapse of the other courts, these used to not be so violent, but now that there are only two courts the Queens must bleed more to keep the balance.” Jordan speaks as in the ring Asha lunges, Morana bats it aside laying a cut on her sister's cheek.

“What other courts?” Peter's glad Lydia asks that question, it makes him feel less a fool for not already knowing.

“The Dark and Light, on Halloween and Beltaine. Fire and Water on the equinoxes. There was a Cycle of feasts, Courts meeting and joining and always a little blood.” The crowd shouts, drawing all of their attentions back to the circle. From the looks of things Asha's actually landed a hit, though it's so far her only one. Whereas she's bleeding freely from numerous cuts all over, her dress doesn't look quite as pretty as it had earlier.

Now that Peter's actually paying attention to the fight it's hard to miss the way the crowd leans in whenever blood goes flying, giving some credence to Jordan's earlier claim. Overall though it's only a little more bloodthirsty than most of the territory disputes he's seen. The only real difference is that the two queens are using swords instead of claws.

A second difference too. Territory disputes ended faster.

—

Asha, as always every summer solstice, collapses, her wounds bleeding sluggishly. Once again the assembly falls silent as Morana disarms her sister. “It is done,” she intones.

Knowing what's going to happen next Erwann scrambles to figure out how best to get down quickly, they're not so far off the ground that he or Peter would be hurt, just dropping, but Lydia might be. Which wouldn't be good. Lydia's eyes are riveted on her mother and while she's distracted Erwann jabs Peter in the shoulder. Certain he has the man's attention he gestures jumping, then throwing Lydia down.

Peter arches an eyebrow, as if question whether Lydia would like that or not. She won't, but it's far faster then the alternative, Erwann shrugs. They can handle whatever scolding she gives them. It means Peter gives him a 'it's your funeral' type look, but at least he shoves himself off the branch; landing on the ground with a clank. Not giving himself time to change his mind Erwann scoops Lydia up and drops her into Peter's outstretched arms. She barely manages to bite back a yelp, and she looks up to glare at Erwann as he slides off the branch, landing quietly next to Peter. Who sets Lydia down as the bell rings out again, cutting off whatever tirade Lydia might have.

They turn to see Morana walk up the steps to the throne and sits with much aplomb, so much in fact that flakes of snow begin falling from the 'sky', causing more than a few of the Summer fae to grumble and complain. “It is now the domain of Winter,” Morana intones, her voice echoing back on itself until it seems that a thousand of her are speaking. “Who disputes?”

Silence fills the room. As it should.

Morana stands again, “now I call up my daughter Lydia.” Next to him Lydia stiffens, she glances a little wildly at him and Peter but all Jordan can do is make encouraging motions, Peter is a bit more...tactile and gives her a tiny shove. She glares at him, but starts walking. The fae split before her like, well, magic. With a grace that is beyond her years Lydia begins ascending the steps, stopping just a few below her mother, like they had somehow rehearsed it. Just as gracefully she kneels.

Morana descends, until she can easily rest a hand on Lydia's head. A chill fills the room. “You have long been lost these past eighteen years. To have you found does my heart joy. I name you now, in the sight of all fae, my heir and successor. I may reign long, but you will reign longer still. Now rise.” Erwann feels a swell of pride as he watches her, and does not miss the murmur of surprise when Morana pulls Lydia into a hug. When they pull away Lydia turns to face the rest of the courts. Behind her Morana speaks again. “Do you have those you would call into your service?”

In an instant nerves leap to the forefront of Erwann's being. Lydia remains silent for a few seconds, then finally speaks. “I call up Erwann, the Yew Knight of Winter, and Peter Hale, werewolf.”

More murmurs, and Erwann can feel plenty of eyes on him and Peter as they begin the same trek Lydia had barely a minute earlier. The steps feel a little endless as they begin climbing, but soon enough they reach the right step, as surreptitiously as possible Erwann reaches out and stops Peter from climbing further. They both kneel. Only two steps above them Lydia looks perfect and unreachable, her diadem appearing to be made of real holly leaves and berries and not just metal and gems. As Lydia reaches towards them Erwann finds himself leaning into her grasp, the touch of her hand to his cheek erotic. Next to him Peter gives a soft sigh. “In the sight of all the fae I name you both my consorts. May you serve me well and share in my joys and sorrows for all our days.”

Now it's their turns. Erwann reaches down and pulls the small dagger from his sword sheath. Erwann's done part of this before, though it takes a bit of work to remove one of his vambraces. Pushing up the sleeve he cuts into the vein just a little before offering it up to her. “I am Erwann, the Yew Knight, life-in-death, who serves the Winter Court, and I pledge myself to you Lydia until my final day. May I rejoice in serving you and find happiness in your embrace.” He already has, but in this case the words are important.

With ceremony she raises his arm to her mouth and places her lips on the wound gently sucking on it. He bites the inside of his lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. When she pulls away her lips look as if they have been stained by blood, and he _wants_. “I accept.” Like with Morana Lydia's voice echoes and reverberates around the room. There's no 'great shift' or 'change' and he doesn't feel different at all, but that is not the point with this, the point is to prove himself in front of everyone.

Flipping the knife in his hand he hands it hilt first to Peter, who soon accepts.

Peter fumbles at his vambrace for longer than Jordan had, but no matter how much Jordan wants to help he can't, Peter needs to do this on his own. He gets it off though, and makes his cut. A much deeper on than Jordan is comfortable with, but with his healing Jordan knows it needs to be that deep. “I am Peter Malachi Hale, a werewolf who would not lay down and die. I pledge myself blood, bones, and soul to you Lydia until my final day.” The change in the words shakes Jordan a little. “May I rejoice in serving you and find happiness in your embrace.” Peter raises up his arm, though as customary with Peter it almost looks like a challenge.

One Lydia seems to gladly accept. Locking her lips around the wound and sucking deeply. Once again when she pulls away her lips are bloody red. “I accept.”

The moment Peter's arm returns to his side Erwann stands, Peter quickly mimicking him. With measured steps they move to stand behind Lydia, as is their right, but Morana reaches out and stops Peter before he can go all that far. “Kneel Peter Malachi Hale.” For the briefest second fear flashes in Peter's face before it vanishes as if it never existed.

Lydia leans back a little. “What is she doing?” She keeps her voice soft.

“If I had to guess,” he murmurs back. “Conferring a rank on him.”

She blinks and tilts her head a little at that. “Oh.”

Morana's rapier gets drawn from it's sheath and she rests the blade on his left shoulder. “Peter Hale, my daughter has done you a great honor by bestowing her favor upon you. Let me grant you another: in the eyes of the fae and their courts I dub thee Duke of Beacon Hills. May you bear it well. Rise now and join your lady.”

Peter steps behind Lydia and speaks out of the corner of his mouth. “Does this mean I can impose taxes and put out an edict telling Scott to not be such and idiot?” Lydia barely manages to stifle her giggle.

Jordan just shakes his head, fighting back a bemused smile. “No. It does mean that if a fae wants to do something in Beacon Hills they have to ask for your permission first.”

A contemplative look appears on Peter's face, but before he can actually say anything more, Morana speaks again. “Are there any other you would call Lydia?”

Silence falls for a few tense minutes. Lydia steps forward. “Envy and Aldans.”

There's a brief gout of flame from Envy, clearly pleased at her selection. She and Aldans quickly make their way up the dais and kneeling before Lydia. Envy goes first, as she is wont to do, a razor sharp claw cutting a thin line down her arm. “I am Envy, daughter of Smoke. She of a Thousand Coins, and First among Serpents. I swear myself into your service Lydia, for as long as you shall have me. May I serve you well and be appreciated for my actions.”

As Erwann watches Lydia take Envy's blood he finds himself a little...possessive? No...proprietary, like he doesn't want to share her with anyone. He nearly jumps in surprise when he feels Peter brush his hand. “She's ours first Jordan, no need to get worried.” Which is strange to hear coming from Peter, but Erwann isn't going to question it.

“I accept.” Lydia's voice pulls the two of them out of their little moment.

Then it's Aldans' turn. The elderly male glamour it prefers falls away revealing the desiccated ropes of vine that make up its body and its pumpkin head. It raises one of his arms up, but visibly does nothing else. Still one of the vines...bursts, excreting a clear viscous fluid. “I am Aldans, Sentinel of the Fields. I swear myself into your service Lydia, for as long as you shall have me. May I serve you well and be appreciated for my actions.”

If Lydia feels any trepidation at consuming the 'blood' of a being that couldn't even be classified as an animal she doesn't show it, taking it in just as easily as she had the others. A second later Aldans 'hand' falls to its side, looking as if it had never been injured in the first place. “I accept.”

She steps back towards Peter and him, her dress hiding enough that he can reach over and touch her back. It relaxes under his touch.

Once more Morana speaks. “Are there any among you who would present themselves for consideration?”

"You need not worry," Asha's river voice fills the room from the chair she's been put in. It doesn't reveal an ounce of the pain she must still be feeling... "There shall be no repercussions should any of you, my Court, choose to join my niece." Her words cause a murmured ripple to pass through the crowd.

Which soon begins parting as a young-looking woman came forward. Dressed simply in a pale green dress, with black and white streaked hair, dusty-gray skin, and a pretty—if plain—face. "I would join you retinue your highness, if you would have me."

Lydia shifts her stance slightly, clearly getting uncomfortable with standing for so long. Erwann covers his arm in glamour and reaching out rests it against Lydia's back. She twitches slightly, then relaxes. "What's your name?"

The young woman curtsies. "Seph, your majesty."

"What sort of skills-" Another woman bursts forth from the crowd, much more ornately dressed than Seph, her flame green hair fluttering in an unseen wind, and white skin slightly flushed.

"Apologies Princess Lydia, but she is not yours to have." The woman grabbed Seph roughly and starts to try and pull her back into the crowd.

Seemingly without thinking Lydia took a step down. "Stop.” She doesn't raise her voice at all, yet it still echoes through the room. The woman stops, though unwillingly, still she turns back to face them and watches stoically as Lydia begins descending the stairs.

—

Lydia finds she doesn't care if she breaks some sort of social more, or rule, or has to start the ceremony all over again by leaving the steps. She can't stand the way the woman in her designer dress is treating Seph. “You would deny me...” Not that she really cares about the woman's name, but a necessary thing to have in this case, most likely.

“Mayme,” the woman answers, not curtsying. “You are not _my_ royalty. I see no reason why I am beholden to you.”

Part of Lydia wants to turn to see if Morana or Asha can confirm or deny Mayme's words. She fears doing so might break what little hold she had, so she hopes that no one sees fit to contradict her next few words. “I am _a_ royal, and unless my aunt, _your_ queen, forgot to mention you, you are hardly royalty yourself. Thus I outrank you.” Even if this woman is a duchess of some sort it's still true.

“She is right, Mayme,” Asha says, her voice gaining a sharp edge. “I also promised that none of you would be punished for choosing my niece. I did not just mean from myself.” Lydia decides not to bother hiding the smugness that radiates from her.

“Your Majesty! I _made_ Seph. She is mine to do with as I please.” Her green hair starts fluttering more wildly.

Before her aunt can speak again Lydia's feet touch the floor and she takes the few steps towards Mayme and Seph. Drawing herself to her full, if short, height she reaches into the ocean of power that is hers and hers alone, bringing into herself all the cold she can. “It is clear Seph no longer wants to be owned by you. Before you spoke up I may still have refused her suit.” Being so general is the reason why she can still say it. “Now that I've seen the way you treat her I believe I will accept her petition. Let her go.”

Mayme, foolish Mayme, draws herself to her own much taller height, pulling on Seph's arm uncomfortably to do so. “No, princess Lydia I shall not.”

Lydia's never actually killed someone before, but she thinks she might just be willing to do it now. So instead of replying verbally she gathers all the cold she'd built up and throws it towards Mayme. Almost invisibly it flies forward before bursting over Mayme's chest, causing her to stumble and let go of Seph, who quickly scurries to the side. Impassively Lydia watches as ice begins to encase Mayme. She recoils in an attempt to get away, but it's no use. Barely a second later the ice begins to steam, and Mayme shouts in anger. Lydia just throws more cold at her. While she's not sure she can magic her way to absolute zero she's damn well going to try.

Once more Mayme stumbles, but this time she stays down, the ice surrounding her sticking to the floor. Everyone in the hall is deathly silent as they watch. Eventually the cold gets to be too much for Mayme and she stops moving, less than a minute later she's completely covered and Lydia lets herself relax, a little bit. After making sure Mayme won't burst forth from the ice to attack her, Lydia turns towards the chair where her aunt's been ensconced. Even though she trembles slightly and one of the cuts on her face begins to bleed again Asha stands. “Would anyone dispute my niece's claim?” The whole of the room is silent. Asha gives a deft nod. “Then Seph shall swear herself to Lydia.” Lydia refuses to shiver when the full force of Asha's sunny eyes falls on her. “As for Mayme, do with her as you will niece.”

Which is daunting. Lydia's near certain Mayme's alive in her ice coffin, but she'd rather not deal with her any more than she has. She thinks it might be an _actual_ faux-pas to hand Mayme back over to Asha after being told to do what she wants with the woman. Lydia closes her eyes and focuses a little. If Danu's right the situation here with the dead is the same as in Winter, but still there should be one or two who can whisper to her.

Seconds later one does.

_'Blood to break, and bind. Finish what you have begun. Gifts to the daughter-tree are not unappreciated.'_

Lydia's pretty sure she understands, and since she can't think of a better alternative at the moment she'll go with what she thinks the spirit just told her. “I hereby give Mayme over to Yvonne, the Yew Knight of Summer. Vlad Dracula the Third may step forward and accept on his wife's behalf.” Safe in the recesses of her mind Lydia flails a little at the fact she just called up the actual historical _Dracula._  Who was married to a fae and probably wasn't a vampire. Just to be certain she doesn't leak any of that she slides a mask of glamour onto her face.

Unlike with Seph the crowd parts for Dracula's approach. The man gives a flamboyant bow upon reaching her and when he straightens she sees that his green eyes are flecked with red. “Many thanks your highness, I do believe my wife will enjoy her gift most heartily.” Without any sort of visible effort he crouches down and picks up Mayme, ice and all and begins carrying her away.

Hoping she'd done the right thing Lydia turns back around and ascends the steps once more. Stopping in front of Peter and Erwann; Peter looks mildly impressed while Erwann gives a little nod. For hopefully the final time Lydia turns. “You may approach Seph.” After she speaks she realizes she's shaking—the glamour covers it—like the rest of her's just caught up to the fact she basically killed someone. She forces herself to breath evenly so she doesn't have a panic attack and strengthens the glamour around her to hide the fact she's crying.

“We need to make it quick,” she hears Erwann mutter behind her, and less than a second later she feels him and Peter pres up against her back, offering her comfort.

Glancing down she sees that Seph is only halfway up the steps. She can have this. Putting forth a glamour that makes her appear in her current position she wraps her arms backwards around the two of them. Right now it doesn't matter that Peter betrayed her. He's _here_ , supporting her when she needs him. The two of them nuzzle opposite sides of her neck. “I'm proud of you,” Erwann whispers.

“That was well done,” Peter breaths against her skin.

Like that they leave her, returning to their previous positions. Lydia does her best to do the same, letting her glamour fall away bit by bit, except for the one hiding her tears.

Seph kneels in front of her and Lydia watches as she pulls a pair of scissors from a hidden pocket in her dress, opening them slightly she uses one blade to make a smallish cut on the back of her arm. “I am Seph, of no title, nor of any import. Yet I swear myself to you Princess Lydia, for as long as you will have me. May I serve you well and be appreciated for my actions.”

Calmly Lydia reaches forward and takes Seph's arm in her hands, bringing it up to her lips to suck at the wound. There's nothing strange or curious about her blood like with Aldans or Vee's, just the same sort of coppery tang you expected from any person. When she lets go she licks her lips to get any stray drops before speaking, “I accept.”

She tunes out briefly when her mother asks again if anyone wants to join with Lydia, _'the ceremony won't end until no one has answered the call for five minutes'_. While Lydia knows having one or two more in her retinue would be good in the long run, she feels the three she has—plus Peter and Jordan—is just right. For a full five minutes the room is silent. When the time ends Morana nods, then steps down to Lydia's level. “Thus my daughter's retinue is chosen, and Winter will rule until Solstice next. Let there be feasting and joy.” Snow trails behind her again as she descends the stairs to join the crowd.

As Lydia follows in her mother's wake she feels...a tad lost. No, that's not right, she feels, _untethered_. Something in her pauses at that word. Sure there's the ever fainter—in fact it's nearly gone—tether between herself, Peter, and Jordan, but another?

 _Stiles_. That part of her reminds. That's what it is. Whatever frail connection she had to Stiles, supposedly as his anchor though she finds herself doubting Deaton's words, is gone now; wholly and completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Week: Conversations, and going back to Beacon Hills.
> 
> -  
> [Here's Lydia's dress](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikY0toRDV0SHBNR0E/view?usp=sharing)  
> [and this is Morana's](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikcHFYem5YZkktb3c/view?usp=sharing) and [her crown](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikdU84NUxpODBaTmM/view?usp=sharing)  
> [Asha](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikeEFkZVVUNU5CUnc/view?usp=sharing) and [her dress](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikQUlNem1naVc2T1k/view?usp=sharing)  
> [Nik and Sparrow](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikQkl2SmJXYWVYYW8/view?usp=sharing) (or at least close enough)  
> [Seph](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikbFVkMUdDN2FkN2M/view?usp=sharing) (or at least her hair, since there aren't many gray skinned people out there)  
> [Aldans' glamour](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0ByWMC-JSV-ikazFwMnF0RE1fWEU/view?usp=sharing)
> 
> Aptrgangr (lit. 'after-goer'/'one who walks after death' AKA Draugr) are a Norse undead being, known for their weight and size. You can read more about them [here](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/ghosts.shtml).
> 
> c'hoar is the Breton word for sister.
> 
> And just to show you how long ago I started writing this chapter, ol' Vladdie is in here because last NaNo one of the heads of my local chapter challenged us to incorporate an historical figure of some sort into our stories. And I've always been a sucker for Vlad Dracula III.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who has a new Beta? I'd love for you all to welcome the wonderful [Elle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thegatesofhornandivory/pseuds/thegatesofhornandivory)/[Thegatesofhornandivory](http://thegatesofhornandivory.tumblr.com/)! Hopefully this will be a long a fruitful partnership.

The next morning Lydia hears footsteps on the other side of the bedroom and her eyes snap open. On the other side of Jordan she can feel Peter tensing. Her eyes dart to where she heard the footsteps, landing upon Seph, going through Lydia's wardrobe. Gently she sets aside the arm Jordan had wrapped around her—why didn't he wake up?—and holding a sheet to her chest she sits upright. “Seph?”

The woman whirls around, though her expression isn't surprised or frightened. “Good morning my lady,” she nods. “Sir.” She noticed Peter's awake too? As if this is nothing out of the ordinary, Seph turns back to the wardrobe and begins going through Lydia's clothes again. “Her Majesty said you have nothing of real import until the farewell feast tonight.” She pulls a hanger off the rack. “Perhaps this?” She turns to show a pale blue dress with a slightly darker blue lace overdress.

Lydia blinks uncomprehendingly at Seph for a few seconds, before realizing Seph is attempting to be her _maid_. The bed shakes a little as Peter tries to hold his laughter in and Lydia turns her head to glare at him. Returning her attention to Seph, she pulls the sheet around her as best she can and stands, enjoying Peter's yelp at the loss of coverage. Going over to Seph, Lydia smiles as comfortingly as she can. Reaching out she takes the dress from Seph and puts it back on the rack. “You know Seph, you don't have to do this.”

Seph blinks at her, lack of understanding clear in her brown eyes. “Do what, my lady?”

“I don't need a maid,” Lydia says gently. She thinks it's great Seph took the initiative on something, but Lydia's never needed help picking out clothes.

Instead of accepting this though, Seph squares her shoulders and meets Lydia's eye. “With all due respect my lady, of the three in your retinue I am best suited for the job. Aldans is a _plant_ , and Envy would be more than happy to drench you in molten gold and call it done.”

Lydia bites the inside of her lip hard to hold back the burst of laughter trying to get out at Seph's unintentional joke. When she feels in control she speaks. “I meant in general, Seph. I'm more than happy to pick out my own clothes and do my own hair, jewelry, and makeup.” Reaching out she rests a hand on Seph's shoulder. “It's very thoughtful of you to do it Seph, but I'm fine on my own.”

Seph, showing she's made of sterner stuff than first thought, doesn't just bow and leave. “While that may be true my lady. I ask you to think of how it might reflect on your mother and yourself if others learn you do your toilette yourself.” She set her hand on top of Lydia's own. “I think you mean to save me from servitude by refusing me my lady, but I thought and chose to do this myself, and there is honor and respect in that.”

Letting go of Seph, Lydia takes a few steps back, turning back to face the bed—Jordan is awake and watching them while Peter's either feigning sleep or actually fell back asleep—giving herself room to think. She doesn't really understand. It's as plain and simple as that. Objectively she knows a slave and a servant are two different things—though one can be disguised as the other—but she didn't think someone would happily agree to be 'the help'. If Seph's implication was right, though why Seph couldn't have straight up said it baffled Lydia, doing everything herself _isn't_ good for herself or her mother. But _why_? Reaching up Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose. he'd thought she was getting the hang of this, and now yet another curve ball. She may have grown up relatively rich, but she'd still done most everything herself. Giving some of that up felt alien.

Jordan's hands came to rest on her shoulders as he steps into her view, thankfully wearing Peter’s boxers. “You shouldn't put too much thought into it. This isn't exactly life and death.”

 _So he says_ , she thinks with an internal sigh.

He glances briefly over her shoulder. “Can you leave us for a few minutes Seph? We'll call you back if we need you.”

“Of course, sir.” There's a faint swish of fabric that might be a curtsy then shortly after that the door clicks shut.

Looking up a Jordan, Lydia clutches the sheet more tightly to her. “Clearly this is a disconnect of some sort. Because I can damn well look after my own appearance.”

A smile twitches at Jordan's lips. “Of course you can.” He even manages to say it without sounding patronizing. “Maybe once we've returned home Seph will take on a different function or task.” Gently he pulls her into a hug. “Here, at the court, it's going to be different. It's...” He doesn't speak again for another minute, but Lydia lets the silence stand, lets him try and figure out what he needs to say. Faintly she can feel Peter's—so he was faking it—attention on the both of them. “Without you or the queen,” Jordan finally says. “This whole court wouldn't exist. We'd be lost, wild, without focus. Few of us will admit it, but that scares us. So we cling to our queens and kings, forever grateful for what they do for us, and we repay them as best we can by serving them, doing a service for other fae, or something we know only we can do.

“Seph _left_ the Summer Court to have a chance at freedom.” One of his hands shifts up to cup her cheek. “So she's doubly grateful to you for letting her do that.”

As Jordan speaks Lydia has to wonder if this conversation would be happening at all if she’d been raised in the court. It’s pointless to bog herself down with ‘what ifs?’. “What about Vee and Aldans then? I don’t see either of them making themselves ‘useful’.” The moment it leaves her she realizes how petulant it sounds. She shakes her head and sighs. “Sorry, I just…” Her shoulders slump and she reaches out to hug him.

“Hey, it’s okay.” His voice turns soothing as he returns the hug. “It’s probably a lot for you to take in.” He runs a hand through her hair before pulling back a step, enough for her to see his mouth twitching in a smile. “If it makes you feel any better we could get Peter a valet.”

On the bed Peter huffs. “Oh please, I’d send them running away in tears in less than an hour. And really Jordan,” Peter adds, his voice turning sly, “then shouldn’t we also be finding you a squire?” She glances over to see Peter giving them both a toothy smile.

Their banter does lighten the mood. She doesn’t feel as if everything’s been magically fixed, but maybe things aren’t as unacceptable as they seem. On the positive side maybe having an extra set of hands would make doing her hair easier at the very least. She rises up onto her tiptoes and pecks Jordan on the cheek. “Thank you.” Stepping out of his hold she heads towards the door. She passes the bed and Peter on the way, and before she can second guess herself she ducks down and kisses his cheek as well. She doesn’t look back to see his reaction, just focuses on the door. Opening it just enough she sticks her head out. “Seph, you can come back in now.”

The woman turns away from the patch of tapestry she had been looking at and joins Lydia at the door. “Thank you, my lady.”

Lydia steps aside and Seph enters, returning to Lydia’s wardrobe. “So the blue dress then? Or perhaps something different?”

Even though it still makes her feel a little uneasy she smiles. “The blue will be fine.” She can live with a day or two of this, perhaps after they’ve all moved into the lake house she and Seph can talk about it.

Seph smiles brightly and pulls the dress out, hanging it on the door. She turns to Jordan and Peter and gives a little curtsy. “If you would excuse us sirs.”

Peter waves a floppy hand. “Go right ahead. It’s not as if we haven’t seen everything already.”

A flush creeps up Lydia’s cheeks. While it’s true—they’re her consorts after all—he doesn’t have to be so... _crass_ about it.

Jordan catches her eye and he arches a questioning eyebrow. She nods, curious to see how Jordan would get Peter out of the room. She didn’t have to wait long to find out. Jordan strides over there, and with an easy movement scoops up Peter, blanket and all, hoisting him over his shoulder. Laughter escapes her as she watches them go.

—

Peter’s not sure if he should be embarrassed or pleased at Lydia’s laughter. Either way, this isn’t the most dignified of positions. He knows it’s pointless to struggle. Jordan’s stronger than him—at least here in the mound. Instead he reaches down and pinches Jordan in petty revenge.

Jordan’s stride jerks, but he doesn’t stumble like Peter had hoped. However he does feel Jordan’s shoulders slump. “Did you just decide to be an asshole today?”

The biting words sting, but Peter isn’t going to answer, not until he’s upright again. Still they make Peter think. It’s not as if there’s any excuse for his behavior. There’s a full two weeks before the next full moon, and even then it wasn’t as if full moons had that much control over his emotions anymore. In silence they pass through the other door off the living area, entering a gym of some sort. Jordan finally sets him down. After making sure he won’t flash any unsuspecting visitors—true he’s a werewolf and used to nudity but that doesn’t mean he wanted to go streaking through the halls—he steels himself. “Look, I’m sorry.”

After a few tense seconds Jordan turns to face him. “I don’t think it should be me you apologize to.” Some emotion between frustration and annoyance flares in his scent.

No he shouldn’t, as always he seems to have screwed up with Lydia again. From his perspective things had starting going so well between them. Not to where they’d been before the Winter Court sure, but they’d had rougher patches. Instead of saying all that he shrugs and attempts to lighten the mood, “I’m not sure I’d be welcome in the bedroom at the moment, not even to get clothes.” Though it’d be nice not to have to wander around the mound looking like he’d come from a toga party all day.

Jordan gives a fond sigh, “I’ve got some clothes in here.”

That’s all well and good for him. “I hope that means I’ll be getting my boxers back.” It’s only half a jest. Most of Jordan’s clothes would definitely be a tight fit for Peter. Even though Jordan means nothing by doing it, Peter still stares as he watches the other man slide off the boxers and toss them back before continuing onto a dresser. Grinning Peter quickly slides them on, shucks his sheet, then stalks towards Jordan’s bare back, enjoying the low flickers of arousal in him. It’s easy to cage Jordan against the dresser. He runs his nose across Jordan’s shoulder and up behind his ear. “Good morning by the way.”

“Peter.” There isn’t exactly a note of warning in Jordan’s voice, but it’s clear he’s not in the mood.

So Peter just lays a brief kiss behind Jordan’s ear and steps aside, hoisting himself onto the bare top of the dresser. He watches, mostly silent, as Jordan pulls on a well-worn pair of sweatpants and a shirt that Peter’s certain he’s seen once before in an old photo of his parents. “Anything in there I can kidnap? Or will the court be seeing me in nearly full glory all day?”

It gets a laugh out of Jordan, and a fond eye roll. Jordan rummages around in the drawer before pulling out a shirt that looks like it might even be a bit big for Peter. At this moment he can’t exactly be picky. As he takes it though he does give it a sniff, relieved when it only smells of stale sap and cold, and once it’s on it’s only little looser than he’d like. “Anything we should do today?” Despite the place being a wonder Peter finds himself a little bored of it already, and more than a little eager to get home.

“Well,” Jordan arches an eyebrow. “I could show you the library?”

At those words Peter perks up. Knowledge has always been a bit of a weakness for him. “You’ve certainly got my attention.” He slides down from the dresser and gives an overly-dramatic bow. “Lead the way.”

Jordan rolls his eyes again and snatches Peter’s hand. “Come on you.”

—

After Lydia’d finished getting dressed—which had taken a lot longer than she was used to but had certainly been more fun—she’d left the bedroom only to discover Jordan and Peter were nowhere to be found. It hurt a little that they hadn’t at least taken the time to knock on the door and let her know they were going out, but she knows they are both adults and can look after themselves. She doesn’t have long to dwell on that before someone knocks on the door. Seph—who’d lingered after they’d finished, seemingly intent on tidying every last inch of the bedroom—rushes over to the door before Lydia even makes two steps and answers it. “Yes?”

Whomever’s on the other side doesn’t talk loud enough for Lydia to hear, but seconds later Seph’s nodding, “Just a moment sir.” She closes the door and turns to Lydia. “Your mother would like to see you. Would you like the footman to show you the way or will you be able to find her yourself?”

“I can find my own way. Thank you, Seph.”

After the fastest curtsy she’s ever seen, Seph opens the door again and speaks once more to the footman. This time she doesn’t bother to close the door when she turns around and heads straight for Lydia. “Is there anything I can do for you my lady while you’re out?”

“Eat.” Despite everything Lydia finds a smile twitch at her lips. “I don’t want you fainting because you forgot. Don’t overwork yourself either.” She might not have gotten the best sense of hers and Mayme’s relationship last night, but she wouldn’t have put it past the other woman to make Seph work herself into exhaustion.

Seph curtsies again. “Of course my lady. Is there a dress you’d like me to prepare for tonight?”

Lydia only lets herself spare a few thoughts on that question. “Maybe the dark green one. I don’t think I’ll be gone so long that we can’t talk about it when I get back.” She inclines her head slightly towards Seph. “Now I should go.” Out of the corner of her eye she sees Seph curtsy again as she heads out the door. In the hallway she notices that Jordan was right. Aldans was there, standing stock still next to the door. “Good morning Aldans.” Or at least she thought it was morning. Jordan had kept mentioning he should get a clock for their room, but it never seemed to happen.

“Good morning my lady,” Aldans rustles. “Shall I accompany you?”

“No thank you,” she answers absently, her mind focused on one thought. _I wish to go to my mother_. The hall around the shivers slightly and Lydia’s sense of the Mound directs her left. A short time later she finds herself in front of a door carved with brambles of some sort. She sets her hand on it, intending to push it open, but the second she lays her hand on it it swings open. Lydia's seen a lot of strange things in the Mound during her week here: beings that shouldn't be physically possible, wide open spaces that have no right being inside a medium-sized hill, and more magic than she bat an eye at, but this takes the cake. Awestruck she enters.

For one, the usual chill she's come to associate with the Mound is non-existent. In fact it feels like a nice summer's day. For two, this is an honest to gods _garden_ , neat little grass paths cutting through beds full bursting with all manner of flowers. There's a _sun_ shining above her head. If she didn’t know for a fact that she was still in the Winter Mound, she would think she'd somehow wandered into Summer's. “Mother,” she calls out, not seeing Morana anywhere nearby.

“Over here dearest.” Morana steps out from a small copse of trees. “I've had breakfast set up here in the shade.”

Going over to her mother she gives the woman a questioning glance. “I didn't expect there to be _sunshine_.” She's gotten so used to the steady, ambient light of the mound that the sunshine is actually a little off-putting.

“Ah.” Her mother steps back towards a small table that had been hidden from view. “The Mound has quite a few of it's own suns.” She glances up at the one currently above them as she sits. “Our Mound provides the food that feeds all fae now that the Light court no longer exists to supplement our supply. We need sunlight to feed our fields, gardens, and orchards.” Morana begins to pour tea, her hands elegant in every move. “Though this place is purely for my pleasure, a secondary sanctuary where I can have some measure of peace.”

Lydia accepts the cup handed to her. “It's lovely.” There's no breeze, but the air's still perfumed with the scents of flowers.

“Indeed.” Her mother reaches out to a tall tray laden with all manner of sweets and takes what looks like a cream puff. “I did not call you here however to discuss the more...'summery' aspects of our home. I had thought before you left you might like to hear more about how the fae came to be, our history.”

Stealing away some of the heat—she’s finally starting to get a hold of her magic, Lydia sips her tea. Setting her cup down she takes some sort of truffle from the tray. “Jordan told us a little about the Progenitor.” Just enough to spark her curiosity, but she hadn't exactly had the free time to investigate, nor any idea of _how_ to start.

Morana nods sagely. “It does not surprise me, though he knows very little about her considering he had just starting sprouting before she disappeared.” Lydia wonders if she'll ever get used to the fact Jordan's a _tree_. The clink of cup against saucer draws her attention back to her mother. “When Asha and I were children we didn't know there was anything special about her. We just called her grandmother and marveled at the creations she gave us, or promised us when we were older. Like many other fae at that point, we had been born instead of created, though mother told us often of how she and grandmother had worked so very hard to make us what we were.”

“With magic?” Right after she asks that Lydia realizes how _off_ it sounds compared to her mother's words.

Morana just gives a little shake of her head. “I can see why you would think so. All we ever do now is magic. Most people would call what the Progenitor could do 'magic' in and of itself, it was in fact science. Mother and grandmother manipulated our genes to make us the perfect queens for our future courts.” As if what she'd just said wasn't all that important or world-shattering Morana takes a calm drink.

Lydia nearly drops the last of her truffle she's so surprised. The sort of revelation that would be called 'jaw dropping' by basically anyone. The fae had been made with _science_?! “Clarke's third,” it slips out before she has a chance to stop it, not that it's anything so earth shattering as Morana's words.

Her mother pauses, a doughnut with white frosting and sprinkles half way between her and the tray. “What is that?”

Giving herself a little shake, _is this really that much different from finding out werewolves are real?_ She shrugs. “A science fiction writer named Arthur C. Clarke came up with these 'laws' dealing with, well science things. The third one is: 'any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”

Morana inclines her head, a smile dancing across her lips. “Just so.” She bit into her doughnut, giving Lydia some time to think.

“The fae are just some genetic experiment by a super scientist?” If Lydia didn't know better she would have sworn she'd somehow stepped into a sci-fi movie, and probably a B one at that.

Setting the rest of her doughnut down Morana gives a small shake of her head. “Not quite, by the time of Asha and my's birth the fae were procreating in the usual manner, the two of us were the exception because grandmother saw a potential to grow new courts, other than the initial four. If you wish to be exact the Progenitor was an alien, one who came upon this world chock full of the strange and unusual and wondered how an initially artificial species would interact and survive.”

Not just an experiment with genetics then, but _everything._ “Where is she now?” Lydia prefers math over science, but the Progenitor's work has to have had some pretty advanced equations in them; and if Lydia could get her hands on them...well, who knew what she might be able to do.

Morana shrugs, “No one knows. At the time of her disappearance Asha and I were trying to accommodate a sudden influx of fae from the newly collapsed Water and Fire courts. Some think that the same sickness that struck down Manannán, his court, and my own mother got to her. Others, that she considered us a failure and left.” She gets a far away look in her eyes as she drinks more of her tea. “I do not know which answer I would prefer, but it would be good for all if we received an answer one way or the other.”

Lydia chews her bite of some sort of small sponge cake slowly, mind trying to fit together all the new information she's just been given. The Progenitor vanishing _after_ the fall of most of the courts vaguely spoke of foul play to Lydia, though that could have been lingering paranoia from living in Beacon Hills. Either way Lydia found herself taken aback by it all, as well as the idea that she had _centuries_ to figure it out if she so wished to. Idly she runs a finger around the rim of her cup. “Manannán and grandmother had the same sickness? Jor-Erwann told me no one knew where it'd come from.”

“Yes,” Morana nods. “Mother was the first case, and after she'd fallen ill the Progenitor spirited her away to try and figure out what was wrong with her. Years passed without any sort of sign that she would return, and though father was ruling the court as best he could it became too much for him and he hanged himself. Thus fell the Dark court.”

The stark words nearly shock Lydia as much as the earlier revelation had. How old had Morana been when grandfather killed himself? Had she understood? Or did she still not understand? Morana after all was handily outliving Lydia's own father and if her mother's account was correct—Lydia knew full well that if you lied to yourself often enough it became a sort of truth—they had loved each other.

“My uncle Oranu began wasting away soon after mother's quarantine, and after the Dark court fell he too died, dissolving yet another court. His death angered Damasca, who'd considered him her teacher and father in all but name. She railed against the Progenitor, demanding she do something to return Oranu to her. But the Progenitor said nothing could be done, so Damasca festered. Yet her court still remained strong, until the same sickness that took mother fell upon the Water court. Except this time it killed.” Morana's expression grew distant again, but this time she kept quiet. Lydia didn't press. She knew what happened. Danu, somehow still healthy, escaped quarantine to try and find a cure for her people, only to return empty handed and far too late, she and her husband the only survivors, which must have precipitated the fall of the Fire court. Lydia's own mind began to wander, trying to suppose what it must have been like living when all six courts were whole and well.

Lydia gave herself a shake. Just like earlier it wouldn’t do her any good to think on what might have been. “Has any of the Progenitor’s work survived?”

Her mother blinked. “I believe I do have some of it in the library. I can ask the librarian to find them if you’d like.”

“Yes mother,” Lydia smiles. “I think I’d like that very much.” New challenges were always welcome.

—

The next morning the six of them arrive at the main entryway of the Mound a little early. Lydia finding herself a little eager to go home, despite all of the problems with the pack returning will bring. Although as she glances over her retinue, she’s grateful that the lake house has plenty of guest rooms and mostly-soundproof insulation. She hears footsteps behind them and Lydia turns, expecting her mother. She feels no shame in gaping with everyone else at the sight of who’s actually approaching. Everyone, _everyone_ , agrees that Danu has never left her rooms, but here she is, in an indigo sundress and a large steamer trunk floating behind her with the Mound's assistance.

“Why?” Lydia finally manages to ask.

Danu's black eyes flick to her. “You still need teaching, and who else but I can do it?” She walks to stand by Seph, whose ears flush.

This time when she hears footsteps Lydia only turns her head, relieved to see it’s her mother. Morana gives a faint smile to everyone, but she goes straight to Danu first. “Sister, it is good to see you in the world again.”

Danu returns the warm greeting with a wan smile. “Yes, it seems that the universe has a different plan than the one I intended.” They embrace and and odd sensation rises up in Lydia, though she can’t quite put her finger on what it might be.

When they break apart Morana’s attention is all for Lydia. “Come here dearest and I shall show you how to create a Way.”

“Way?” Lydia asks as she hands off her suitcases—she’d given into the urge to take all her new dresses with her—to Peter and Jordan.

“Yes,” Morana gives her a soft smile as she joins her. “They are the main way we travel around the world. A bit like strands of a spider’s web. Only those who are connected to the Mound may make them. Now, close your eyes.” Lydia finds herself growing a little tired of that phrase being used in conjunction with learning new things, but she does it anyways. “You know the Mound and you know your Nemeton, the genus loci of Beacon Hills. Connect the two in your mind, feel them twist and twine, creating a path.” Morana's tone is rhythmic, almost sing-song.

On the whole her sense of the Nemeton had always been faint—she only anchored Stiles after all. Now that the bond is broken it’s even harder. With the help of what she thinks is the Mound she finds it. She tries to connect the two as her mother instructed, but the Nemeton keeps slipping away like it's been greased; every time she thinks she has it it slithers away. “I, I can't mother.”

When she finally turns to Morana she's frowning; quickly she steps up next to Lydia. “That should not be possible.” One of her hands moves to rest on the wall and her eyes glaze over. Her eyes clear and she looks flushed. “Curious. Erwann a moment if you please.”

Lydia finds herself stepping towards Peter as Jordan joins Morana. As she and Jordan pass she reaches out and squeezes his hand. He gives her a smile in return, his hand slipping from hers as he moves to join hands with her mother. For a second Lydia thinks she hears the rustling of a tree, but it falls silent. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the others. Vee, Aldans, and Seph appear to be in various stages of worry or concern, but Danu’s face is impassive. The Mound _rumbles_ which Lydia is certain shouldn't happen at all, and Morana and J- _Erwann_ pull away from the door. Erwann shivers and takes the few wobbling steps between them, not quite falling on Peter, but that's really the only word for it. The hand closest to her reaches out and grabs her arm.

Morana turns to face them. “It seems you and yours shall be taking the long way back. I will contact the airport so they can prepare my jet for your arrival.”

Lydia blinks in surprise. “You have a jet? I thought we couldn't stand so much steel?”

“There is very little steel in an airplane, and it is not something I use often. The door can usually take me wherever I desire. Though there are many humans I interact with that require the deception of humanity of my own. So I have a jet.” She claps her hands and the Mound gives a soft groan, one of the walls splitting open to reveal familiar murky blue. “One of the McManuses will meet you shortly and drive you back to the airport.” Turning, Morana goes to Lydia and embraces her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Goodbye my daughter. Do not hesitate to call me, if you need to.”

Lydia smiles at her mother. “I’ll try.” Or she’ll try to not go so long between conversations with her.

Morana returns the smile and pulls away going to Jordan. “Sir Erwann.” she rests a hand on his shoulder. “Look after Lydia.”

“I will,” he replies, giving a brief bow.

Then onto Peter, she says, “The same to you, Peter. Do not hurt her again.”

Peter looks like he might spit out a snappy response, but instead he gives a tight nod and bows.

“You three,” Morana’s gaze drifts to Vee, Aldans, and Seph. “Make my daughter proud.” With that Morana turns, skirts swishing behind her, and leaves.

As if by silent agreement everyone grabs their luggage and heads through the murk. Outside the sun is shining and Lydia finds herself squinting at the light. It’s warm too, warmer than she’s used to, but at least her dress is light enough that she’s not feeling too much of it. Ten minutes later they’re being driven to the airport. Lydia stares out the window, barely listening to the conversation around her, watching the scenery fly by. _Home again, home again, jiggty-jig_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Moving into the lake house, and encounters.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~…and yes the doughnut is totally a reference…~~


	34. Chapter 34

Overall the flight went alright. Lydia had thought that of all of the fae Danu would have the worst time of it, but instead it was Aldans. She, Seph, and Jordan had spent most of the flight looking after him.

When Jordan sets him down on the tarmac of the Arcata-Eureka, Aldans seems to recover. Vee meanwhile swans off and rents them a van—Lydia hadn’t thought she’d have the necessary documentation to do that. They all pile in after spending half an hour playing Tetris with the luggage, and Jordan drives them to the lake house. Despite the dragging feeling—like something’s trying to pull her down—she feels excited to see the lake house now that it’s finished, and to know what everyone else thinks of it. Ten minutes later they pull up onto the road leading to the house.

On either side of the gates, newly planted hawthorn and blackthorn hedges block the house from view both from the front and along the sides, giving plenty of privacy. The added bonus of the thorns isn't something Lydia'll turn her nose up at either. As they head up the now tree lined drive—young oaks that will grow more impressive as the years pass—they pass numerous raised beds she hopes will become herb and vegetable gardens all leading toward the lake house. _Home_ she reminds herself. Lydia finds she's as curious as everyone else. After all, she hasn’t set foot in the place since she did the walk through with the designer.

Arriving at the house is an experience in and of itself. The 70s brown, the ivy, even the gables are all gone. In fact, without the address number you would think it a completely different house, and for all intents and purposes it is. Instead of a squat two story, it now has the appearance of an airy three story classical. Painted crisp white with black shutters and roof. Adding to the airy feeling are the numerous windows on the first two floors. The third is dominated mostly by the roof, but a pair of windows hint at the master suit within. She knows there will be even more on the side that faces the lake to take advantage of the views. A porch spans the entire front. Border beds full of hydrangeas, roses, lavender, and rosemary bushes, as well as a clematis being trained onto the porch railing completes the look. Lydia finds that she loves it.

“Very nice,” Seph comments as she finishes braiding her black and white hair. “Is there room for all of us?”

Lydia nods as she heads up the short flight of steps to the front door, everyone trailing behind. “The second floor is all bedrooms.” Though she didn't expect to fill bedrooms so quickly.

“I’m claiming a room that overlooks the yard,” Vee declares, hoisting up her luggage. “The less I have to look at all that water the better.”

Seph looks like she’s biting back laughter. “I have to take a look I think.”

“They’re all kind of the same,” Lydia says. “Just different colors.” It wasn’t as if she were strapped for cash. Even after all the construction and whatnot she still had a cozy half-million to her name, but they were supposed to be _guest_ rooms. “You’re all welcome to personalize them however you want once you’ve chosen.” As a group they step up to the porch and Lydia pulls out the brand new key—she’ll need to remember to make copies for everyone so they could come and go—and opens the front door. Everyone begins to file in but not, Lydia notices, Aldans. She turns and gives him a questioning look. “Aldans?”

“I will reside in the garden,” Aldans declares, catching all of them off guard. “That shall give you more space.”

Lydia frowns. “You don't have to Aldans. Six bedrooms will hold you all.”

“Ah, I did not mean _that_ my lady.” He turns around to face the grass, trees, and empty beds. “I do not require a chamber at all. The grounds will suffice as my domain.” His glamour sloughs away, and it somehow—it always confuses Lydia how it can walk when it doesn't truly have _legs—_ walks a ways back towards the beds. Finding a suitable place, it sinks into the ground a little with a sigh. “There are nutrients enough to support me, and it will allow me to better influence the land to what you may desire. I shall thus also act as your gatekeeper and guard.”

 _Oh_. “Your thoughtfulness gives me great joy.” The words feel strange on her tongue, like every other variation on 'thank you' she has to come up with. Turning back around she heads inside with the rest. The ground floor is comprised of a great room, kitchen and pantry, formal dining room, library, and study, all in pale, airy colors with black-framed furniture and brighter pops of color in the accents—a far cry from the seventies decor of the previous house.

She can explore those to her heart’s content later. Right now she wants to unpack and relax for at least an hour, maybe take a nap. Vee and Seph had either already gone up to the second floor or were exploring the rest of the first. With her hands full with her suitcases she can’t exactly grab Jordan and Peter by the hands so instead she knocks their suitcases with hers. “Come on. I want to show you the master.”

Expectation rising inside her, she doesn’t wait to see if they respond before taking the stairs two at a time. Though from the sound of feet on the stairs it sounds like they’re right behind her. The first flight ends on the second floor, where she sees Seph poking through bedrooms, but Lydia continues up the second flight. The stairs end in a tiny seating area, just big enough for a single chair and a table, which she realizes is even more perfect now with her retinue, and a door. The door opens easily on silent hinges and they step into the master bedroom together. A few privacy screens have been put up on either side of the door, and some further forward to hide the bed, but as she steps past them she sees dressers and wardrobes on the right and the wonderfully large stone tub on the left.

“Aright,” Jordan says behind her, sounding impressed. “This is pretty awesome.”

Footsteps to the right have her glancing over to see Peter setting his suitcase down. “Yes.” He smiles and she finds it warms a little part of her. “You’ve outdone yourself sweetheart.”

She beams. “You haven’t even seen the bed.” Setting her own suitcase down, she strides back towards the last wall of privacy screens, and reaching out, nearly topples it over in her attempt to push it aside. Not exactly the grand reveal she’d been hoping for, but it’ll have to do. The bed is massive. No matter how much she might have enjoyed piling on top of one another in various beds, sometimes she just wanted some space to stretch.

The frame isn’t as impressive as Jordan’s, but it’s still a work of excellent craftsmanship and Lydia does love it. Someone steps up beside her and she glances over to see Jordan. “I’m gonna miss my frame.”

Peter steps up on his other side and slings an arm over his shoulders. “We can just move it to one of the guest rooms.”

“Yeah.” Jordan’s shoulders slump. “It’s not quite the same, you know?”

She gives him a small smile. “I know.” Reaching out she takes his hand, leaning her head into his shoulder, a short yawn escaping her. “Mmm, I think I’m going to collapse and take a nap.”

“Alright.” Jordan leans down and lays a brief kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll go and make sure Vee and Seph are settling in alright.”

“Make sure you start a grocery list, and maybe talk about takeout,” she tells him as she slips off her shoes and crawls onto the bed, the sheets cool under her. “Oh,” she sighs, burying the side of her head into a pillow. “Make sure Danu’s alright too.” She’d nearly forgotten about her teacher.

“Lydia,” Peter’s voice speaks from the other side of the bed and she feels it sink as he sits. “She didn’t come with us past the airport.”

Her eyes flutter open and she blinks. “What?”

“Don’t worry,” Jordan soothes. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll see if I can find her. Now sleep.” His words don’t exactly calm her down, but she trusts him. She closes her eyes again, listening as he leaves the room.

Rustling from the other side of the bed reaches her ears and she remembers that Peter’s still there. “So,” he begins, tone bone-dry. “Should I apologize now for any potential cuddling that may occur in sleep?”

Opening her eyes again she rolls over. “Why would you apologize for that?”

“Please, Lydia.” He yanks off his shirt and tosses it aside, seemingly intent on not facing her. “I know you’re still afraid of me.”

She stares at the expanse of his back, flabbergasted. “What? Peter, I’m not afraid of you.” She’s _wary_ of him, but that’s not fear. If she were afraid of him she wouldn’t still be sharing a bed with him, or spending time like this alone with him.

—

Peter, inside his own head, scoffs at that. It's sweet of her to say that, and she may even believe it, but he smells it on her every time they're alone. He won't contradict her; instead he stands up intent on not staying. "Nevermind. I'll nap somewhere else." There were after all four other bedrooms.

He's halfway to the door when Lydia speaks, "Peter." There's a thread of cold anger in her voice. One that has him stopping mid-stride. Her scent's gone colder too, enough that he bites the bullet and turns around. She's standing, and clearly angry. "Come here."

He goes.

Crossing her arms she looks up and meets him in the eye. "You know I can't lie, _and_ you know my heartbeat probably better than anyone else, Peter. So _listen_ when I tell you _I am not afraid of you._ " Her heartbeat's as steady as ever, but there's a part of him that doesn't want to believe her. "I haven't been afraid of you since you protected me from the Nogitsune. I've been _wary_ of you, and angry. Never afraid." Her eyes narrow. "Stop putting words in my mouth, and if you really are planning on taking a nap, get in bed."

She's right, but that doesn't stop him from being wary of _her_ as he climbs back into the massive bed, conflicting emotions fighting inside him. About half of them transmute into shock when she snuggles right up to him once she's wormed her way under the sheets, her face nestling into the crook of his neck. “You’re _mine_. You swore yourself to me and despite our problems I’m not letting you go so easily Peter.”

The possessive tone of her voice sends a shiver down his spine—not the bad sort mind you—and Peter finds himself burying his nose in her hair, inhaling ice and oleander with every breath, as an alien warmth fills him. Inside him his wolf’s actually content, if missing Jordan. “Alright,” he breaths into her hair. “Though you might have to remind me every so often.”

Sleepy laughter leaves Lydia. “I think that might be Jordan’s job most of the time,” she murmurs, as if catching his train of thought. One of her hands comes up and idly runs up his arm. “Can’t give you a scar.” Her voice would be inaudible if he wasn’t a wolf. “Maybe a tattoo.” Her hand on his arm stills.

“That would involve a blowtorch sweetheart, and I don’t think I love you that much yet.” The moment the word slips from his mouth he freezes, dreading and wondering what Lydia’s response will be.

All he gets though is a snuffling-snore. She’s fast asleep. He’s not sure if he should be grateful or disappointed.

—

When Lydia wakes up Peter’s gone, but she finds it doesn’t bother her all that much. She feels refreshed, well as refreshed as she can feel in Beacon Hills, as she gets up and slips her shoes back on. Upon reaching the ground floor she heads towards the sounds she hears from the kitchen. Vee and Seph are poking around, seemingly having the times of their lives exploring. Hating to interrupt, Lydia clears her throat. The two women whirl around, and Seph blushes. Lydia doesn’t give either them a chance to speak. he doesn’t really care what their explanation might be. “Where are Jo-Erwann and Peter?”

“They went over to Erwann’s old house to start moving things,” Vee tells her. Which reminds Lydia that she’s got to figure out how to get her own stuff here.

Seph, still blushing slightly, gives a shallow curtsy. “Sir Erwann said to tell you he’s not sure where Queen Danu is.”

It’s disappointing but Lydia can live with it. “I appreciate you telling me.” Briefly Lydia contemplates what either of them might do if she said ‘thank you’. “I’m headed out. If Peter and Erwann come back before I do, let them know I’ve got my phone and should be back before dinner.” She hopes.

“Of course my lady,” Seph says with another curtsy.

Vee just waves a hand as she starts rummaging through another cupboard. “Sure thing, Lydia.” Which is the first time Vee’s ever called her that. Not that she minds, it’s just a little surprising.

Lydia waves at them both as she exits the kitchen and, grabbing the keys, heads to the van. She needs to return it and pick up her own car anyways. Peter and Jordan must have run to Beacon Hills then. She doesn’t envy them. She doesn’t start up the van right away though, instead taking a few deep breaths and reaching out with her senses, seeing if any dead nearby might know where Danu might be.

‘ _Queen to the sea, return to thee.’_

‘ _First meetings should be so sorrowful.’_

Maybe instead of learning to talk to them Lydia should be learning to translate their cryptic speech. She has a pretty good guess that Danu’s somewhere on the coast, and hopefully nearby.

She drives back to Eureka and returns the car. Feeling good to be back in her own car, she points it towards the beach. Pulling into a public lot she parks and stares out at the sea of people enjoying the nice day. Great, needle in a haystack search. On an impulse she sends out tendrils of power out, seeing if they encounter anything similar. A minute or so later she hits a cold spot, pulling her power back she begins walking.

She finds Danu sitting at the tide line, knees pulled up to her chest arms wrapped around them, a pot bellied pig lounging happily beside her and the ocean soaking into her indigo dress as it races up the shore. “You know, this is the first time I've seen an ocean in nearly five hundred years. I'd forgotten how comforting it can be.”

Lydia kicks her shoes off and steps over to her, crouching down. “Why aren't you at the house?”

“ _Your_ home? I do not wish to be. I did not return to the world to join in your retinue. I am here as your mentor, nothing more. To live amongst your household would be...unseemly. I can easily find a place for myself here. I am still a queen in my own right, and I have my pride.”

When she puts it that way. The water tickles her toes as it met them again. “What's it like?”

Danu doesn't speak for a few seconds, shifting to rest her chin on her crossed arms. “Before? I had my duties and responsibilities, my husband and children, purpose. We ruled, and ruled well. And I was happy. Now there's a hole in my chest, gaping and septic. The whispers of my drowned tell me not even the waking of my husband can heal it.” She straightens, uncrossing her arms to let her hands run through the water.

Lydia can hear the dead too, not the same ones though she thinks, and they don't sound as loud as usual, the sea possibly drowning them out. She would have thought it the opposite, the shore was a threshold of a sorts the dead should be more...talkative. Maybe it had to do with the high tide coming in. “Your drowned?” She's sure there's a lesson to be had there and Lydia's more than willing to learn, especially since her power has shifted.

“Hmmm yes. Your first death determines your...sphere of influence...as it were. As it should be I was drowned and so the dead in the water speak to me. Though I am old enough and have enough power that I can faintly hear others.” She shrugs. “Those of the land are more multitudinous, so it should come to no surprise to you that there are more of them to speak to you.” She stands, and Lydia does the same. “In time as you grow in age in power you will be able to do more things.” Lydia watches in amazement as Danu grabs her skirt and begins shaking the water out. “For now your powers will be mostly passive, especially your necromancy. Though it seems whatever you did with your lovers has given you a boost in your necrothurgy.” Her dress is completely dry now, a perk, Lydia's sure, of having powers over water.

Lydia finds herself blushing. “You felt that?”

Danu gives her a sidelong glance as she nudges the pig, who rises with a soft snort, and they begin walking down the beach, forcing Lydia to jog back the way she came to get her shoes before hurrying to catch up. “Not in the way you’re implying, no. I didn’t feel it. Some of the dead who will talk to me in the mound told me.”

That’s a relief. Lydia’s read enough bad paranormal romances with Danny that the idea of ‘sex magic’ is both absurd and yet vaguely plausible. “What _did_ we do? Sex magic?” Her ears burn a little at the fact that she really said it.

However it seems to get an _actual_ hint of a smile from Danu. “No. Though I’m sure my husband would say there’s always something magical about a good, hard rut.” Lydia blushes profusely, not expecting their conversation to take this sort of turn. Danu spares her any more embarrassment. “That is neither here nor there. As I was saying, most of your magic is passive, overhearing conversations rather than initiating them. In a year or two though it would not surprise me if you were calling up your ghosts to ask them directly of the future.”

Lydia's not sure if she should be proud of that or not, then decides that, yes, she should. “You’ll really be fine on your own?” If Danu hasn’t left her room in 500 years how confused is she? Yet the plane didn’t phase her.

“Yes Lydia, I shall be fine. I was a recluse but I still experience the world. Your mother saw to that.” Which sounds both annoyed and grateful. “I have plenty of money to get myself settled in somewhere. I shall contact you when I’ve done so so we may resume your lessons.”

Instead of curtsying Lydia gives a little head bow. “Then I await your call.”

Now that everyone’s been settled and dealt with, more or less, she heads over to the house she grew up in. he can’t really call it home anymore. “I’m back,” she calls out, toeing her shoes off.

Mom- _Natalie_ rushes out from the office and pulls her into a hug. “Where have you been young lady? You tell me your going away for a week, then I don’t hear anything at all from you, nor did you answer any of the calls or texts I sent you.” She pulls away enough to look Lydia in the eye. “I was worried sick that something had happened to you Lydia.”

“Sorry.” Lydia doesn’t even try to hide her faint blush. “I just really didn’t want to talk to anyone,” she explains, so close to lying it makes her a little uncomfortable.

Which makes her mom huff. “Where were you anyways? I know you’re eighteen now, but ‘away’ was far too vague for my tastes.”

Here she can basically tell the truth. “Montana.”

She gets pulled back into the hug. “I’m not even going to ask, but you’re back now.”

Lydia shifts uncomfortably, and extracts herself from her Natalie’s embrace. “About that mom, I’m...actually going to be moving out. I’ve got a place now, and I’ll be moving to Cambridge in two months anyways so it’ll be good to get a head start.” She knows her mom will want to see this ‘new place’ and she’s dreading the fact she’s going to have to glamour her mother so she doesn’t get curious; it’s a necessary evil though.

Her mother makes a moue. “Renting dear? I didn’t know you could afford that.”

A flush creeps over Lydia’s cheeks at her mother’s implication. On the other hand there’s a glimmer of a way this could work without ever having to glamour Natalie. “I’m not renting mom.” She darts her gaze away, trying to make a purposeful action look embarrassed. “I’m moving in with Jordan.”

When she next looks at her mom there’s a serious expression on her face. “Are you sure about that Lydia? It’s a big step and you’ve only been together for four months.” She reaches out and cups Lydia’s cheek.

The number actually shocks Lydia, her time with Jordan and Peter’s felt far longer than four months. She leans a little into Natalie’s touch before stepping close and embracing her. “Yes mom,” she speaks into her mom’s shirt. “I’m sure about Jordan.” More sure than her mother will ever know in fact.

She hears her mom sigh and feels arms wrap around her shoulders. “Oh Lydia, you’ve grown up so fast.”

 _I didn’t exactly have a choice_ , she thinks. A few seconds later she pulls away. “I just came to get a few of my things. Tomorrow Jordan and I will come to get everything else.”

Natalie gives a watery smile. “Alright dear. Now don’t be a stranger, and you and Jordan are coming over on Sunday for dinner, no excuses.”

“Mom!” For a few moments Lydia feels like an actual mortified teenager.

“I have a right to know the man who seems to have stolen away my daughter and her heart.” Her mother’s tone brook no arguments.

Lydia sighs, but nods. She knows her mother will like Jordan. Granted she ‘liked’ Peter too, but she felt mom would object more to him. “Alright, we’ll be there.” She retreats to her bedroom before her mom can drag her into another dinner.

—

It's completely by accident Scott and Stiles run into Lydia at the grocery store. They're making a game night run, he has no idea why she's there. Next to him Stiles stiffens a little. “Hi Lydia,” Scott says with a smile, though it’s wary.

Her shoulders slump and she sets the box of cereal in her hand back on its shelf. “Hello.” Somehow Lydia manages to turn a single word into something biting and harsh. “What do you two want?” Her scent—which is different than it was just last week and that worries him—grows colder, reminding him of sudden freezes in the spring.

They're such good friends that Scott knows Stiles is about to say something biting and grabs his arm to stop him. “We've been worried about you. You haven't answered any of our calls or texts.”

“Maybe because I don't want to talk to you.” She starts pushing her half-full grocery cart towards the end of the aisle.

He and Stiles look at each other before following after. “Yeah well, Peter's doing hinky shit and you up and vanish? Not good for our blood pressure Lydia. Derek and _my dad_ assured us you were fine. What the fuck?”

Lydia stops and whirls around, her scent growing colder. “Shut the fuck up, Stilinski.” _Ouch_. “You two lost the right to express _any_ sort of worry and care the moment you decided to judge me on my choice of lover,”—not a mental image Scott wanted to have—“and completely ignore anything _I_ have to say on the subject. 'Cause right now I'm pretty fucking sure I know Peter better than any of you, so I would think you'd _trust me_ when I tell you about him, and the fact that he's not doing _anything_.” Her heartbeat doesn't jump. She must really believe Peter's not up to something. If Peter could pull the wool over Lydia's eyes, no wonder it took them so long to figure it out.

Scott opens his mouth to protest, because that's not it _at all_ , but Lydia continues. “But _of course not_ ,” she hisses. “You're a 'true' Alpha and can do no wrong. You can sell the savior bullshit to someone else McCall because I'm not buying.” She reaches out and shoves him, and just like the last time she actually manages to move him, displaying more strength than she has any right to have.

Before he can do anything else though, someone else joins them in the aisle. “Liddy!” The woman, bald with golden skin and smelling of hot rocks and something metallic, calls out, waving what looks like seed packets as she approaches. “I finally found the seeds.” She makes what's possibly an annoyed face. “You'd think they'd put them in a more visible spot considering how off some of their own grown herbs smell.” Without any further word the woman tosses the packets into Lydia's grocery cart. In response Lydia rolls her eyes affectionately.

“Liddy?” Stiles squawks. To be fair Scott doesn't think it's a good nickname for Lydia either.

Lydia doesn't seem to care. “So what Stiles? Vee has a right to call me whatever she wants.”

Scott wrinkles his nose. What sort of name is 'V'? The woman sticks out her hand. “As Liddy said, I'm Vee, and you must be Alpha McCall.”

He’s a little taken aback that she somehow already knows him. “You know who I am?”

The smile he gets in return seems to have some very sharp teeth in it. “Oh, Lydia’s told me all about you.”

He finds himself a little worried, because if she knows Lydia then she knows Peter too. But she seems friendly enough, even if her appearance is a bit strange. Scott shakes her hand, regretting it a few moments later when Vee squeezes _very_ tightly. _Ow_. “Yeah,” he's surprised he manages to sound normal. Then again this isn't the worst pain he's ever been in. “Nice meeting you.”

She lets go and gives him a toothy smile. “I'm sure the pleasure's all yours.” She looks him straight in the eye and doesn't break away.

An annoyed sigh from Lydia breaks their impromptu staring contest. “We need to keep shopping Vee.” She starts turning her cart around to head the other way.

“Of course, Liddy.” Vee turns her gaze back on him and Stiles. “I'm sure I'll see you two around town.” Without waiting for a reply she turns around and follows Lydia.

“That was-” Scott slaps a hand over Stiles' mouth to silence him, not even flinching when Stiles licks his palm.

“I want to listen to them,” Scott explains. Stiles nods and Scott lets his hand drop. Focusing as best he can, Scott starts filtering out unwanted sounds until all he can hear are Lydia and Vee and their heartbeats.

“Never call me Liddy again Envy,” Lydia hisses, quietly enough that Scott has to strain to hear her. So Vee is just a nickname. Scott doesn't know if that'll be useful or not though.

He hears the sound of a boot scuffing against linoleum. “Yes my lady. It won't happen again, I promise. I just thought it would provide me a good entrance.” Envy takes Lydia’s cue and speaks softly.

Lydia huffs, a sound that Scott's heard it enough times aimed at him. “Apology accepted. Now come on, we need to get a lot more shopping done.”

“Yes, my lady. Though I meant what I said about the herbs. I would suggest we not buy any and just have Aldans work some of his magic on the seeds. With him helping them along, it wouldn't surprise me if we got a harvest a few days from now.”

“Alright.” The wheel of Lydia's cart squeaks. “Then let’s hit the meat department.”

It takes about a minute for Scott to refocus, but Stiles is wonderfully patient with him. Scott gives a little shake of his head to clear it, which is when Stiles pounces. “Well?”

“I think if I kept following them I'd find out more.” It'd cost him, and the idea of it makes him a little uneasy. “Lydia just got mad at the woman, whose full name is Envy, for calling her Liddy, then they talked about someone named Aldens, I think, doing something to the seeds to make them grow faster.” Scott lets his shoulders slump. Part of him feels he should mention the ‘my lady’ bit because it feels _important_ , but his mouth stays closed.

“I don't know man. It's like Lydia leaves for a week and comes back a completely different person. It's kind of scary.” Sure on the best of days it felt like Lydia _just_ tolerated them, but she still helped them and stood by them. But now... Stiles slaps a hand against Scott's back. “Don't worry dude. We'll get her back. And hey, if it involves hurting Peter, so much better!”

Tentatively Scott returns Stiles's enthusiasm. He well and truly doesn't trust Peter, or wouldn’t believe anything he'd say, but there had to be a better way of dealing with him than just hurting him until he left. _Or died,_ a dark part of him whispers.

—

Malia stands in front of a pair of gates that hadn’t been here the last time she’d been at the lake house.

There had been a sort of emergency pack meeting this morning about Lydia and how she was back in town but no one knew where. About how none of them should approach her. Which Malia thinks is bullshit. Lydia’s her _friend._ She’s not going to just abandon her. Even if everyone else seems to think Peter has her under his control somehow, which Malia thinks is also bullshit. Despite that ‘suggestion’ the pack spent the last few days looking for Lydia with no luck. They’d asked her mom, who’d just told them that she’d moved in with Jordan. They’d gotten Jordan’s address from the sheriff, only to find his house empty. Overall the pack sort of gave up after that.

It hadn’t been all that hard to find her. Malia had just followed Danny around until he’d met up with Ethan—who she thought would have sensed her—and headed here. She’d waited a few minutes to see if they reappeared, but when it didn’t happen she felt it safe to assume this is where Lydia lived now. She strains her hearing, voices from the other side of the house reach her ears. She’s not quite good enough yet to hear what they’re saying. Still one of them is Lydia. To double check she gives a sniff, breathing in cold and something flowery.

On one side of the gate there’s a box with what looks like a speaker and some buttons on it. Going over she presses the biggest one, supposing that that’s the one that’ll get her what she wants. A crackling hiss fills the air for a second before dying down. “Hello?” The voice comes from the speaker.

Malia’s not sure how she’s supposed to reply. With a lack of anything better to do she presses another button, another staticky sound reaches her ears, but fainter this time. “Hello?” Maybe she should have paid more attention to the technology stuff everyone tried to teach her.

“Hi!” The other voice sounds cheerful and female. “Can I help you with something? Are you lost?”

Since it seemed to work the first time Malia presses the second button again. “I want to talk to Lydia.” Belatedly she adds. “Tell her it’s Malia.”

“Of, of course miss.” The speaker goes silent and Malia returns to the middle of the gate to wait.

There’s a piercing, mechanical buzz and the gates swing open. Feeling wary, but confident that she could take whatever came at her, Malia strides in. Turning it into a jog, she heads up the drive, gravel crackling under her shoes. About halfway up the drive she feels someone watching her. Her eyes dart around trying to spot whoever it is. There’s the woman waiting by the front door, but that’s not it. Whoever it is is closer than that. The only other human-ish thing is the scarecrow by the beds full of plants.

It takes her a few seconds to realize that it’s pumpkin head is pointed right at her, and it moves as she does.

Inside her, her coyote freaks out and Malia fights to stay calm. Whatever it is it hasn’t attacked her _yet_. She still takes the last ten or so feet at a dash. “Your scarecrow’s freaky.”

The woman, dressed plainly but with fascinatingly cool black and white hair, smiles then does a weird leg bend skirt lift thing. “Yes, Aldans can be quite unnerving. I’m Seph, and if you would follow me please Miss Malia.” Seph’s words are a bit of a whirlwind of things Malia’s not quite sure she understands, but she still follows as they head down the side of the porch, the sounds from the backyard getting louder. As Malia follows Seph she realizes there’s something familiar about her. Not in a ‘I’ve seen you before’ sort of way, but more like the musty scent of her recalls something in her memories of being a coyote.

With that thought comes the familiar feeling that if she could just shift into a coyote again it would give her the answer. That ability eludes her, even though Richard had told her that it was something all coyotes could do; he was just as confused about it as she was at least.

Instead she wracks her brain, getting closer to Seph and trying to catch every nuance of her scent. By the time she’s just starting to get a hold of it they’re at the back yard. In the grass Lydia, Jordan, and a bald woman are tussling, practicing self defense she supposes. Danny sits on the steps, cheering them on, and on the porch itself Peter and Ethan seem wrapped up in their own conversation.

“My lady, there’s a Miss Malia here to see you,” Seph announces, bringing everyone’s attention to them. Malia tilts her chin up in a challenging manner when Ethan growls at her. _He’s_ the one who doesn’t have a pack.

In the yard Lydia pulls away from the other two, a smile on her face. “Malia! I’m so glad you’re here.” She arches an eyebrow as she climbs the steps. “How’d you find us?”

Malia shrugs. “I followed Danny and Ethan.” The two boys have the decency to be embarrassed.

Lydia laughs. “I’m glad you did.” She turns to Seph. “I’d love if if you’d bring out a pitcher of your lemonade Seph, and maybe some snacks too?”

Seph does her leg-skirt thing again. “Of course my lady.” Rising she turns and enters the house.

“‘My lady’?” Malia asks as she collapses into a chair on the porch.

Taking one of the chairs next to Malia’s, Lydia gives a little shrug. “Seph, Vee, and Aldans kind of work for me, and Seph prefers to be more formal about it.”

Before Malia can ask her any other questions there’s a shout of triumph from the yard. Turning Malia sees that the bald woman—who must be Vee/Envy if Scott and Stiles’s description of her was correct—has Jordan pinned. Lydia boos, reminding Malia of a lacrosse game. “Come on Jordan! You can take her!” Either Lydia’s jibe spurs him into action or it gives him the distraction he needs, but only a few seconds later their positions are reversed and Jordan has Vee in a headlock.

Malia’s attention gets drawn away by the sound of a door opening behind them. As Seph steps into view with a tray of lemonade and snacks it hits Malia, and a giddy sense of accomplishment fills her. “You’re a badger!” _That’s_ why her scent is so familiar; Malia has a lot of fond memories about badgers.

Seph starts at Malia’s words and nearly drops her tray. She recovers, although her hands are shaking as she sets the tray down on a little table with a rattle-clack. The second she lets go of it she turns to Lydia and gives a deeper version of her leg-skirt thing. “Apologies my lady, I did mean to tell you of my origins earlier, but I could not quite find the right time.”

Lydia rises from her seat and kind of lifts Seph up from her action. “Seph it’s _alright_. I’m not mad, and to be perfectly honest I don’t really care _what_ you are,” she gives one of those air kisses Malia’s seen Kira gives Scott sometimes. “I can take care of things from here, just relax for now. We can talk about you more later.” Relief clear in her scent Seph nods and retreats back into the house.

Malia accepts the glass and plate that Lydia hands her, though she’s not hungry or thirsty.

Lydia returns to her seat and gives her a level look, her scent determined. “So, Malia, why are you here?”

With a shrug Malia leans back, the wood of her chair warm against her back. “I wanted to see you. You’re my friend and you went away for a week. I missed you.”

Almost immediately Lydia’s expression softens and she smiles. “I missed you too Malia. I didn’t mean to sound...snappish. It’s just...” She sets her own little plate on the arm of her chair and rubs the bridge of her nose. Jordan and Envy are coming up the porch steps and as they pass Jordan reaches out and brushes his hand against Lydia’s shoulder, making Lydia smile faintly. “It’s just I’m so paranoid now about Scott and Stiles,” her smile goes a little lopsided. “You can see how that might have deflected to you.”

Malia does see. After all Scott’s her Alpha. It makes sense that Lydia would think some of his beliefs have rubbed off on her, not that that stops it from hurting a little. She watches, a little wary, as Danny flops into the seat next to Lydia. “Hey, Malia right?”

She nods grudgingly, wondering if their conversation’s going to be cut short because he just joined them. That was one of Scott’s rules: you didn’t talk about the supernatural around people who didn’t know. “Hi Danny.” No use pretending she doesn’t know who he is.

“So,” he slouches in a way Malia’s sure is vaguely painful. “Are you thinking about joining Peter’s pack too?”

The question floors Malia, for about a million different reasons.

The biggest one being: Peter was an Alpha?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: joining, and breaking.
> 
> -  
> So instead of giving you all a hoard of pictures of the new lake house I instead made a [pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/mordredsgirl/wk-lake-house/), some (like the house, kitchen, pantry, and tub) are direct representations of what's in the house, the rest are just suggestions. I've also got a general WK inspiration board too.


	35. Chapter 35

Peter manages to keep his wince at Danny’s question internal. He’d certainly hoped he could have kept his apparent Alpha status secret for longer than a week. Part of him wants to make a snappish comment of some sort, but Danny is Lydia’s friend—and highly useful in his own way—so Peter keeps the comment to himself. When Malia turns and gives him an incredulous look, her scent stinking of disbelief, he flares his eyes, enjoying her recoil of surprise.

Her eyes narrow, and for a second he thinks she’s going to demand an explanation. To which he’ll give a maddeningly cryptic response, but she only turns and shakes her head. “No. I’ll stick with Scott. Someone’s got to look after my pack.”

Lydia frowns as she takes a sip of lemonade. “Did something happen while we were gone?” He’s thankful that Ethan seems as interested in what Malia has to say as him, because he’s just as curious as Lydia, but doesn’t want to be rude considering how important the conversation between the two of them is.

“I guess,” Malia shrugs. “Scott and Liam got into a few arguments.” If Malia had any sort of real loyalty to McCall and his pack she shouldn’t be telling them any of this. Granted, Malia seems content to live by her own set of rules and damn everyone else’s. “Liam wants to tell his parents about everything but Scott put his foot down.” She nibbles on a cookie. “Then there was the argument about Mason.”

Lydia stiffens as Peter recalls that she’s becoming friends with that boy. “What happened?”

“Liam suggested Mason officially be part of the pack.” The puppy has good instincts. Having a few humans in a wolf pack made it work better and blend in more for reasons no one seemed to quite understand. “Scott said no again, and they got into a real fight. Stiles and I had to break them up.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Vee sounds far more pleased than Peter thinks she has any right to. He has to agree, a little. Chaos in McCall’s pack can only be good news for any pack he hopes to establish himself.

He follows Malia when she leaves, stopping her by the gate. “Are you going to tell Scott?” He has to know, to prepare himself if need be.

She frowns at him, shaking off his hand. “Why would I?”

“Because that’s what Betas who meet new Alphas do. They tell their pack.” Transient packs were rare, and in most territories any packs who didn’t announce themselves before entering established areas were quickly shown the door. Peter won’t go easily if that happens. He has more right to this place than Scott does. His family lived here for generations, and he’s literally giving his life for it. If anyone has more right to it than him it’s probably Derek, but he knows Derek doesn’t have any desire to be an Alpha again.

Malia frowns. “I’m not a wolf, I’m a coyote. Coyote packs are different.”

“Does Scott know that?” He arches an eyebrow.

Her frown deepens, but instead of replying she shakes off his hand and leaves. After a few seconds he heads back to the house. He still needs to convince Ethan that joining with him is a good idea.

*

That night as they lay curled up around each other in bed, Peter finds himself staring at Lydia, who, in an interesting change from the past few weeks, lays in the middle. Or more specifically, he stares at her torso where he can just barely make out the scars he left on her from his attack a year and a half ago. Her comment the day they got back about marking him in some fashion’s been gnawing at the back of his brain ever since. Coming upon him at strange times and insisting it be acknowledged in some fashion, as well as the fact that he wants it himself, to be marked and to mark in turn.

It’s not a werewolf thing, not that Peter asked around much when he was ‘younger’. It wasn’t hard to get the general understanding that while love bites were all well and good, actually, permanently _scarring_ your significant other as some sort of ‘mine don’t touch’ display was very much frowned upon. After all you could seriously hurt them if you weren’t careful, and how would they explain the mark to their human friends, employers, or family?  So Peter shoved that desire of his aside, with the understanding that not even ‘normal’ werewolves wanted that.

Either Lydia’s journey through his mind re-awakened that desire, or being in and around the fae did it. They always seemed so very possessive in the tales his gran used to tell him. Ever since they’ve been back it’s been there in his mind, patiently waiting. It’s not fixated on Lydia—she already bears a mark of his, however unintentional it had been at the time—but on Jordan. As if drawn there his gaze drifts from Lydia to Jordan, only to find the other man already staring at him. “What?” Peter whispers, mindful of the fact that Lydia’s already fast asleep.

“You’re thinking about something.” It’s not exactly an accusation but it’s clear Jordan wants more of an explanation than ‘it’s nothing’. It makes Peter wonder if he has anything to lose by talking about it. It’s not as if Jordan hasn’t already seen the worst of him.

He reaches over, not for Jordan, but to rest his hand on Lydia’s waist. The sleep shirt she’s wearing has ridden up and his fingers settle right on the raised scars there. “I’ve been thinking.” He takes a deep breath, in a way grateful that it’s night. It feels like a better time to say this than under sunlight. “I want to do something like this to you.” His fingers run up the curve of his ‘scratch’ as if Jordan might misunderstand him. The blast of sap-scent that reaches Peter’s nose from Jordan surprises him, as does the fact that Jordan leans across the space between them to kiss him.

It’s an inelegant kiss at best, but Peter hardly cares. He’s still trying to process the fact that Jordan’s response to being told someone wants to scar him is kissing that person. When they break apart Jordan’s eyes seem to glow for a brief second. “I, I really want that.” In the dim light he can tell Jordan’s blushing.

“I couldn’t tell,” Peter replies, dryly.

Jordan reaches over and shoves him.

In between them Lydia stirs. “Why aren’t you two asleep?” She mutters.

“Because we’re talking,” Jordan tells her, one of his hands drifting through her hair.

“About what?” She buries her face in Jordan’s shoulder.

“About whether or not I could bite Jordan,” Peter answers, nervous as to how she’ll react.

Lydia turns over, nestling her back against Jordan and, reaching out, pokes Peter’s shoulder. “I still think you should get tattoos.” She sounds more awake now, and part of him feels bad they woke her.

“If you’d managed to stay awake at the end of that conversation, you’d know I said anything permanent would require the application of a blowtorch, and I’m not letting anything like that anywhere near me.” The word ‘love’ doesn’t slip out again. He may have accepted the fact that it’s true in his own mind, but he’s still not willing to admit it out loud.

Closing her eyes Lydia hums. “I’m sure you can find an alternative if you really put your mind to it.”

He’s willing to take that complement. Closing his own eyes Peter snuggles a little closer. “Fine. Tomorrow though.”

“No,” Jordan murmurs, already half-asleep. “Tomorrow you’re biting me.”

Lust and affection coil in Peter’s belly, but even they’re no match for sleep. Maybe he'll get lucky and only have good dreams tonight.

—

Peter actually looks _worried_ as Jordan sits in the chair he'd just brought up. “Are you _sure_ about this?”

While part of Jordan appreciates the worry, he’s managed to think about this a lot since last night. “For the last and final time Peter, _yes_ I am sure. You want to do this to me, and I've decided I want it as well.”

Lydia clutches a first aid kit to her chest as she comes to stand on his left side. “Peter, _be careful_.”

Peter takes the other side and, reaching over Jordan, cups Lydia's face in his hands. “I know you're not a big fan of these words Lydia, but I need you to close your eyes and take a few deep breaths.” He withstands Lydia's brief glare, continuing after she does so. “I'm going to be as careful as I can be sweetheart, and I can take my time. I'm not trying to bite to turn here. If Jordan tells me to stop, I'm going to stop.” He lets go of Lydia and kneels, taking Jordan's arm and slowly rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. By the time it's up to his bicep, one of Jordan’s legs is bouncing with impatience. Peter's lips twitch as he lets go of Jordan's arm and places a hand on his leg. “Patience, Jordan. I intend to take my time with this.”

Jordan finds himself shivering as he forces his leg to remain still. Peter's twitch turns into a full smile. “Good boy.” He has to bite his tongue to hold back the groan those words elicited as Peter's face and hands begin moving all over Jordan's arm.

“What are you doing?” Lydia's voice is whisper soft, as if this is some rite that deserves respect.

Peter shifts his face a little so he can speak without pausing his work. “Making sure everything is about where it should be. I'd rather not paralyze his arm if I can help it. The less time it's out of commission the better.” Those words filled Jordan with a rush of love, and he finds himself relaxing even more than he thought possible. Although there's a growing sense of anticipation tinged slightly with dread, he's not going to change his mind, but he doesn't think he's going to enjoy the pain much.

Hands finally still, one on the body of his forearm the other on his bicep right under his rolled up sleeve, Peter moves his face slightly so that lips and tongue can glide over the smooth skin just below his elbow. Jordan’s eyes flick up to Lydia, who's staring transfixed at Peter, so Jordan actually misses the moment of ingress. That doesn't stop his hiss at the briefest moment of pain he feels before it's siphoned away. He returns his gaze to Peter, whose veins turn black with stolen pain and lips lock tightly around his teeth.

Without the pain the sensation of Peter's wolf teeth in his arm is...disconcerting actually, one that makes him want to shift and squirm, but he holds still. He's not a child to balk at the strange once he's agreed to it. Jordan loses track of the time a little as he watches Peter and feels his teeth sink in even deeper and actually tear the wound a little. Eventually Peter's teeth rise up and the man himself pulls away, revealing a near perfect circle of teeth on Jordan's forearm.

Peter himself looks surprisingly wrecked, his eyes flaring red and a little of Jordan's blood trickling from his lips, though his tongue quickly darts out to collect it.

Lydia is by the wound in an instant, which, without Peter's touch, has begun to ache. Unpacking the first aid kit, she gets to work on cleaning and covering the wound.

Her actions don't distract him from Peter long, not when the other man ends up between his legs and starts rubbing his face all over Jordan's torso, hands quickly baring as much skin as possible. He can barely feel Lydia as Peter's stubble begins scraping against his skin, making him twitch and jump. Just like his shirt, Peter makes quick work of undoing his jeans and tugging down his boxer briefs to free his still flaccid cock. Despite the fact he agreed to the bite, it's not exactly something that turns him on.

However this doesn't seem to deter Peter, who simply sinks down a little more and takes the whole of him in his mouth. It wrenches a shout and a jerk of his hips from him, which only seems to drive Peter on. Far from his usual method, Peter's blowjob is full of more teasing and... _softer?_ The thought gets away from him though as one of Peter's hands slipped into his underwear to glancingly stroke his balls.

He starts to move his uninjured hand to tangle in Peter's hair, but before he gets far Lydia's caught his wrist. “No, don't touch him.”

 _Fuck_ , his hips jerk and he moans as his hand returns to grip the arm of the chair. Around his hardening cock Peter begins to hum, adding a new layer of sensation. It's a struggle to remember not to tense his left arm—that much pain isn't sexy for him—Lydia's gentle touch there helps. Since he can't do anything with his hands he throws his head back, biting his lip in an attempt to hold in his whimper as Peter gives the head of his cock a good hard suck.

A new sensation joins the game and he rolls his eyes down enough to see Lydia's shifted her position slightly so she can rub her cheek against his newly bared shoulder. Peter sinks fully down again and Jordan just lets himself go, whimpering shamelessly as his sac gets another teasing brush. Not only is Peter's blowjob unusually affectionate, it's also now the longest Jordan's ever had and he finds himself beginning to wonder if it's ever going to actually _end_. Except Peter's hand finally makes due on it's teasing and Peter's tongue does that swirly thing and, with a moan that sounds completely wrecked, he orgasms, his body laxly slumping into the chair.

Peter greedily takes it all down and gently cleans him before shifting to rest his cheek on Jordan's thigh. He sighs and rubs his cheek against the denim, for all the world acting like a cat that got into catnip. If Jordan weren't floating on a high of his own he's pretty sure he'd find it a little creepy, or perhaps disturbingly cute. Lydia shifts her position again so she's just perched on his Peter-less knee. One of her arms wraps around his neck, one hand idly stroking his shoulder while the other tangles into Peter's hair to pet it. Mindful of the fact his arm's still injured, even if it doesn't feel like it at the moment, he tentatively wraps it around Lydia, barely touching her, and he completes his earlier attempt to run his own fingers through Peter's hair.

“Thank you,” Peter sighs.

All Jordan can really do in response is grunt, which draws a huff of laughter from Peter. Lydia’s fingers scratch against the back of his neck and Jordan’s head lolls, something like peace spreading in him. Far too soon for his liking, even if the chair isn’t all that comfortable at this point, Lydia gets up and Peter does as well. He opens his mouth to protest but before he can even formulate words Peter scoops him up, and he finds himself being tucked into bed.

Hazily he can hear Peter and Lydia talk, but he can’t make out any of the words. Then Peter returns, nuzzling Jordan’s cheek before laying a kiss on it. “I’ll be right back.” He hears two sets of footsteps leave the room.

Despite the fact that his arm aches something fierce, Jordan’s half asleep by the time Peter does return. He hears something being set on the nightstand, and opening his eyes he blearily sees a tray with food and a steaming teapot. “You didn’t have to,” he protests sleepily.

Peter sits next to him on the bed, helping him sit upright, Peter’s touch leeching away any pain Jordan might have. “Yes, but I _want_ to.” He watches as Peter pours out what smells like Jordan’s painkiller tisane, before accepting the mug when it’s handed to him. “I think.” Peter’s gaze darts away, landing on a plate of delicious looking cookies. “If I had survived instead of died that night I would have been by Lydia’s beside the next day, taking care of her.”

Jordan cools his tea then takes a sip, a familiar herbaceous taste filling his mouth. “Does she know that?”

“No,” Peter answers with a gusty sigh.

“Then maybe you should tell her.” It wouldn’t hurt, and from Jordan’s point of view Peter and Lydia could stand to talk about each other more, to each other.

A derisive snort leaves Peter, but he doesn’t argue. Which at the moment Jordan will take as a victory.

—

The next morning Jordan goes off to work taking Vee and Peter with him—Vee to wander around town and Peter to do some research on marking werewolves. Lydia will head into town later herself to meet with Mason, but for now since they’re basically alone, Lydia approaches Seph in the kitchen. Sliding onto the barstool next to Seph’s, she says, “I’m up for talking if you are.” She doesn’t pressure any more than that. She doesn’t want Seph to feel like she _has_ to talk to Lydia.

She watches as Seph’s hands still, the bead she’d been sliding onto a wire slipping from her fingers and colliding with the other beads in the bracelet she’s making. It had good-surprised Lydia to discover Seph made jewelry quasi-professionally. After a few deep breaths, Seph turns to face her. “To tell the truth my lady there isn’t much to tell, and most of it was told me after the fact since I don’t recall anything from before my transformation, but you have the right to know.” Almost absently she picks up a pair of needle-nose pliers and fiddles with them. “About seventy or so years ago I wasn’t anything but a badger, one of thousands in England. On the day Mayme found me I was ‘special,’” she pauses to grimace, “because I had the unfortunate luck of coming across a hunting party. I apparently put up quite the valiant resistance, enough that I drew the attention of Mayme and her friends.

“They took pity on me, after their own fashion, and to save me from the hounds and hunters turned me into a human.” She turns her full attention back to the bracelet. “From then on I was a servant of Mayme’s, until I threw myself onto your mercy.”

Lydia’s not sure how to respond. What _can_ she say? “May I ask why?”

Seph turns to face her again, an almost fierce expression on her face. “Because I no longer wished to be kept in lavish chambers, only allowed out on the Summer Solstice, or used for my talents with no appreciation of them.” Her expression softens as she smile. “So far I have yet to regret it.”

Embarrassed but pleased Lydia blushes. “I’m glad you feel that way Seph.” On impulse she leans over and hugs her. “Thank you for telling me.”

Seph pulls away, her expression shocked. “My lady?”

“Seph, you’re part of my retinue.” Her lips twitch in a smile. “I think it’s okay if I owe you a favor or two.”

Now Seph’s the one blushing, ducking her head to try and hide the fact. “I’m honored that you think so my lady.”

Lydia stands. “It’s you who are honoring me Seph.” She turns to leave, then turns back. “I’m really liking how that bracelet is turning out. I’d love to see it when you’re finished.”

“I would love to show it to you.” Seph smiles again, bright and warm.

Finding herself bolstered by it, Lydia smiles in return before leaving the kitchen, intent on reading for a little while before heading out.

—

Going into office after being away for two weeks is an...experience. One he nearly called in sick to because having Peter and Lydia wait on him hand and foot and be so _gentle_ with him—especially during sex—is an experience in and of itself. He also _likes_ doing police work for the most part, even if he'll only be doing it for two more months. Walking into the station right away gets him strange looks. Most are probably for the sling his left arm is resting in. If anyone asked he was going to tell them that he'd injured it while on vacation. Michelson smiles at him from her desk. “Welcome back to the grindstone. Though it looks like your vacation wasn't all fun and games,” she adds, pointedly she glancing at his arm.

He manages a nonchalant laugh. “Oh this,” he raises his arm a little, “it's nothing.” He laces his voice with only enough glamour that Michelson shouldn't press for anything more specific than that. After all 'my lover and fellow consort bit me because he's kind of possessive like that' wouldn't exactly go over well.

“Parrish!” The whole of the bullpen starts a little at the sheriff's bark. “My office if you please.”

Michelson gives him a pitying look. “Better you than me.”

He rolls his eyes and heads to Stilinski's office. Once inside the sheriff gestures for him to shut the door. “Have a seat,” the man says.

A tad reluctantly Jordan does. “Sir?”

“I'm only going to yell at you a little Parrish.” The sheriff leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “I didn't ask you about this before you went on your vacation because I thought you deserved to enjoy that, but now that you’re back on the clock I've got no such reservations.” Jordan has a feeling this isn't going to end well. “Scott and Stiles came to me a few weeks ago with a...vaguely worrying tale. Do you know what it is?”

Jordan's pretty sure he does, and makes him feel a little like a Scooby Doo villain. _Meddling kids_. “I believe I do sir, though to be honest I never thought I'd have to worry about teenagers gossiping about my lovelife.”

That catches the sheriff off guard. “You don't sound surprised though.”

“Because I'm not, sir, but if you came in here to ask me anything along the lines of 'what are you thinking?' or 'do you even know what you're getting into?', I will tell you that I am _centuries_ older than I appear and that I can handle anything Peter might do.” Point in fact he's already handled a lot of things Peter's done. “To be perfectly honest sir,” he continues. “I've met far worse people than Peter. While I seriously doubt he’d do it if Peter tries anything Lydia and I will be more than enough to stop him. So while your concern may come from a good place sir, you can stuff it.”

—

Lev Stilinski isn’t afraid to admit his mind is reeling, and not just about the age thing. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. It’s not like he can leave to compose himself and come back. “None of that changes the fact I’m your boss, and allowed to worry about conflicts of interest.” He knows that’s a bit hypocritical of him. Knowing about the supernatural and being in law enforcement is already a conflict of interest, and one that might cost him his job again if any of the cover-ups he’s done are found out.

“Sir, to be frankly honest with you if anything’s going to be a conflict of interest with my current job it’s my profession, not my relationships.” Parrish gives a little shrug. “And so far that’s worked out alright.”

“I would’ve thought ‘cop’ was your profession Parrish.”

Which gets him a rueful smile and another shrug. “No sir, I’m actually a,” he glances away briefly, like what he’s about to admit is embarrassing or ridiculous. “A knight.” Ridiculous it is then. Although given all Lev’s been through in the past year and a half he’s willing to go with it.

“You mean an actual horse-riding, sword-wielding, dragon-slaying knight?” He may be going with it, but in a way this takes the ‘bizarre’ cake.

“Well sir, we don’t slay dragons anymore, but yes.”

Lev decides it’s probably better to worry about dragons existing later, along with everything else in this conversation. “Since we seem to be doing honesty hour, anything else I should know?” This way he’ll probably find out what he needs to lie over later.

“I can’t lie. I’m allergic, for lack of a better term, to iron. I’m the one who eats all the doughnuts.” Lev’s had his suspicious about that one for a while now, but it’s nice to have it confirmed.

However those revelations start setting things off in his head. “You’re a faerie.” He’s about 97% certain about that, especially considering he’s been reading Stiles’ research notes.

Parrish grins. “As I live and breathe sir. I’d ask how you figured it out so fast, but, well, Stiles is _your_ son.”

Lev feels proud and a little sad. Claudia was the one who really had to know everything. For him, knowing enough to solve the case had been enough. He does his best to not let either emotion show as he leans forward enough to rest his uncrossed arms on his desk. “When were you planning on telling me all this?”

Knowing faeries can blush probably won’t be useful later on, but you never know. “Uh, at first never sir. We’re private at best, and well, you’re human.” Right now Lev’s not going to take that as an insult. “Then during everything last year I didn’t know you knew, and then a few months ago I just couldn’t find the right time. To be perfectly honest, I’ve spent so long hiding it, that revealing it feels odd.”

He can believe that. “While I believe you know what you’re doing and can take care of yourself, I’m still going to pull you aside to ask about things every once in a while.” He most definitely doesn’t want particulars, and he trusts Peter about half as far as he can throw him, but he does trust that Jordan will look after himself, and Lydia—another thing he doesn’t really want to dwell on.

“Of course.” Parrish sounds relieved as he stands, though Lev isn’t going to let off the hook that easily.

“I don’t know what your healing’s like Parrish, but until you’re better I’m putting you on light duty, paperwork only.”

Parrish groans, but nods before leaving. Lev is only just relaxing into his chair when Jordan sticks his head in again. “Sir?”

“What now?” He sounds like a crotchety old man asking it, but screw it.

Jordan hardly seems put out though. “Sir. I guess, well, this is my sixty day notice.”

 _Notice_? Lev quickly connects the dots. “You're leaving in two months.”

He gets a nod. “Yes sir. Lydia'll be moving to Cambridge for MIT and I'll be going with her. Working here won't exactly be an option.”

Lev starts a little at that. He’s heard Stiles praise and rave Lydia’s intelligence enough that the fact that she got into MIT isn’t a surprise, but he didn’t really expect Parrish to go with her. “Really? Peter?”

“He’s coming too sir.” That’s a relief of sorts. “It’s kind of our job to stay by her side and keep her safe.”

A frown crosses Lev’s face, from what Scott and Stiles have told him they’re fairly certain Peter’s behind everything that’s been happening recently, but if what Jordan says is true… “You know Scott thinks Peter’s controlling you somehow, right?” Normally he wouldn’t divulge something like that, but he _likes_ Jordan, despite his current choices, and he doesn’t want the guy going in blind.

“Yes sir,” Parrish’s expression darkens. “He and I talked about it before I left, he didn’t seem to believe me when I said Peter wasn’t.” He shrugs. “They’re welcome to think whatever they want, it doesn’t change the truth. Now sir, if you’ll excuse me I’d like to get started on that paperwork.” Parrish leaves before Lev can dismiss him, which he’s sure is rude even if you’re actually a knight. For now Lev’ll let it go, his mind turning over facts and ideas, looking to see if anything interesting comes up with what he’s just learned.

—

Despite the fact that he’d been told to his face he wasn’t part of Scott’s pack, Mason feels nervous meeting with Lydia. It makes him feel a little like a movie spy actually. Though that doesn’t completely overcome the general hurt he feels at being pushed aside like that. And really, he reasons, if he’s not part of the pack then Scott has no right to get angry at him over meeting with Lydia. Liam, who Mason’s certain is the best BFF _ever_ , does his best to include him though, getting together after pack meeting and telling him the gist of what’s going on so Mason can feel at least a little in the loop about things. Hopefully it’s enough that he doesn’t get drawn into another manticore situation.

“Hi,” Lydia’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. “Sorry I’m late.” She tosses her purse into the seat across from him. “Let me make an order and I’ll be right back.” She smiles and strides off over to the counter.

To be fair though it’s not just Scott he’s annoyed at. While he knows he’s probably not Lydia’s closest friend, he thought they were close enough that she’d tell him she was leaving for a week and then talk to him in some fashion after getting back. He kind of understands why she didn’t, what with the pack confrontation thing. Doesn’t stop it from hurting a little.

She soon returns, with one of those vaguely disconcerting cream cheese brownies, and a froth topped mug. There’s a faint smile on her face when she sits. “So, ah, how have you been?” She sounds a little ashamed, which he finds himself grateful for.

“Alright,” he hedges. “You know except for the whole werewolves thing.” He’s not just even talking about Scott stuff there. He may or may not have gotten drunk off his ass and wandered through the preserve...and run into Brett...and admitted that he found that particular werewolf _very_ attractive.

Mason had nearly died of embarrassment the next morning.

“You know.” Lydia pulls him out of that particular memory gratefully fast. “If you ever want to bitch you’re more than welcome to come visit.”

It’s an olive branch he’s sure, and well, he wants to take it. “Where _do_ you live now?” He knows it’s not at her mom’s house, or wherever it is Parrish lived.

She breaks off a chunk of her brownie. “At my grandmother’s old lake house.” She pops the chunk into her mouth.

He’s pretty sure he remembers where that is, even if he’d only been to it for that weird full moon party. “Thanks, so...how was your two weeks?”

Lydia snorts into her drink. “Trust me I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t believe half of what happened. Peter, Jordan and I went to Montana and—”

“Wait,” his mom would probably frown at him for interrupting but he really needs to ask this. “Who the hell is Peter?”

Lydia laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Surprise?


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first off major thanks to my beta Elle, who's been a peach and an A+ beta.
> 
> Also! This week marks the 1 year anniversary of WK! I started writing it way back last year on July 10, and am just now actually starting to reach the end.
> 
> (On a completely different but related note: how about that TW premier last week? THE MARRISH IS KILLING ME Y'ALL!)

It's far too early in the morning when Peter finds himself in the bathroom, clinging to the toilet and throwing up the contents of his stomach for no reason he can discern. It's not like he could get food poisoning. Granted it might be better than the nightmares he’s been having. He finds himself even more worried when Lydia joins him a few minutes later. Had someone managed to slip past Aldans and Vee and put poison in their food? It's a worrying thought, especially when he has no idea who that unknown enemy might be.

Distantly he can hear Jordan's rapid approach and one of Jordan's warm hands rests itself on the back of Peter's neck. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jordan's other hand hold back Lydia's hair. “Are you both alright?”

Listing to the side Peter rests his head against the cool tank. He's breathing raggedly and his throat feels like it's been scoured with sandpaper but he's just grateful he doesn't feel like he's going to hurl anymore. “I think I'm fine,” he says quietly to spare his throat. Reaching out he gently takes Lydia's wrist and starts leeching away her pain.

She gives a tiny whimper, but doesn't try to pull away as she joins him in absorbing cool from the tank. “I don't know,” she whispers, her eyes glazed. He doesn't like it at all.

Worry starts coming from Jordan as well as he lets go of Peter to flush the toilet and turn on the overhead fan. “Come on you two,” he says gently. “Let's get you both back in bed.” He helps them both up and doesn't protest when they lean heavily on him. Somehow they manage to only stumble and stagger towards the bed before Jordan helps Lydia collapse onto the blankets then Peter. He leaves them, and Peter tracks his footsteps as they head back into the bathroom and start running water in the sink.

Knowing Jordan's got whatever he's planned probably well in hand, Peter focuses on Lydia. He rolls closer and reaching out again puts a hand on her shoulder, taking her pain again. She sags and sighs. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “I feel like shit.”

Weak laughter is about all the humor he can manage. “We're in the same boat then.”

“Pretty sure you're not as bad off as me,” she mutters. “My breasts hurt and I've got cramps.” She buries her face in his shoulder and he finds himself going still. “I want to call it the flu, but I didn't think I could catch that.” Peter knows he _can't_ catch that.

Jordan's back before he can think of a response, with glasses of water and cool, damp, towels. “Drink slowly,” he cautions as he hands them both glasses. “This is obviously worrying.” Peter can't even work up the energy to sass Jordan. “Any idea what it might be?”

Finishing his glass, Peter sets it off to the side and shrugs. “I was thinking poison in our food.”

Jordan shakes his head. “I'm fine and so are Vee and Seph.” Hmmm, he's right. Vee and Seph's breathing is still sleep-even. The three of them ate the exact same things as he and Lydia did.

“I want it to stop,” Lydia moans softly. “I don't care what it is.”

Making soothing noises Jordan rubs Lydia's back for a few minutes; but he pulls away his face thoughtful in the dim pre-dawn light. “I'm going to call Melissa and see if she can come over to check you both out, unless you think you can make it to the hospital?” Peter vehemently shakes his head, the less time he spends in hospitals the better he'll be in the long run. Though he hardly likes the idea of Jordan calling Melissa McCall in the first place.

“Shouldn't wake her up.” Which is mighty thoughtful for Lydia.

“Don't worry Lydia,” Jordan soothes. “I'm pretty sure she's at the hospital on shift right now. I was just going to call the main desk and talk to her there.”

Lydia hums and snuggles closer to Peter.

Leaning over the both of them Jordan gives them each a forehead kiss before getting up and leaving the room. Faintly Peter call here Jordan's phone ringing as he calls the hospital. He hears the click of connection, but decides it's not really worth the effort to try and listen in on the full conversation. “Hey Melissa, it's me, Jordan Parrish.” Lucky Jordan to not have to worry about convincing someone to put Melissa on the line. Jordan's silent for a few moments before speaking again. “Look I know you probably have no reason to trust me, but I wouldn't be calling if I didn't need your help.” More silence as Melissa replies. “It's Lydia and Peter. Something's wrong with them.” Melissa's voice gets loud enough that Peter can hear the angry cadence of it.

Jordan cuts her off before she can really get started though. “I don't care if you think Peter should rot in hell. I quite like him where he is and would rather he not die from something completely preventable.” The warmth in Jordan's voice is touching, if a smidge misplaced considering Peter's feeling worlds better already. It's clear Lydia's not. “Come over and take a look at Lydia please.” Peter would much prefer it if Jordan wasn't begging. Silence again and Peter finds his worry returning. Finally though Jordan speaks again. “Thank you Melissa.” Relief is obvious in Jordan’s voice as he gives her their address.

As Jordan returns, Peter sits up, ignoring Lydia’s murmur of protest. “Well?”

“She said she’d be here in half an hour when her shift ends.”

Peter nods and gets out of bed, padding over to the dresser, grabbing one of his shirts and pulling it on.

“Peter?” Jordan steps in front of him before he reaches the door.

“I was thinking it would be better if Melissa didn’t ever see me while she’s here.” He can hid out in the kitchen and try to put his nervous energy to good use.

Jordan is unhappy about it, but eventually nods. “Alright. I’ll be down soon to meet her at the gate.”

Leaning in Peter gives Jordan a soft kiss. “It’ll be alright,” he promises. It gets him a weak smile in response.

Before he leaves he returns to Lydia, sitting on the bed and giving her the same kiss he’d giving Jordan. “I’ll be back when Melissa leaves, alright sweetheart?”

Her eyes flutter open and she frowns. “Peter…”

“I know, but it’ll be less stressful for everyone.” He won’t have to worry about angry glances and catty comments filling a space that should be focused on getting Lydia better. He pulls himself away and quietly descends the stairs, being careful not to disturb Seph and Vee. Once in the kitchen, he ignores the overhead lights in favor of opening the curtains, letting in the growing dawn light, which is more than enough for him to see by. Going into the pantry he roots around, collecting what he’ll need to make chicken noodle soup. Setting his finds on the counter he does the same with the fridge and freezer.

Jordan stops in the doorway for a moment, giving Peter a little waves before heading outside. Peter mainly focuses on building up his stock, letting the simple task consume him. The less he focuses on Lydia, the less he’ll worry...probably. Footsteps draw his attention away from the pot, and for a second he thinks it’s going to be Lydia, but when he actually looks up he sees it’s Vee. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”

She shrugs, yawning at the same time. “I thought I was the one who did the cooking? Something wrong?”

“Lydia isn’t feeling well.” He doesn’t protest when Vee joins him.

Or when she turns on the mixer and starting the dough for egg noodles.  “Will we be calling the queen?”

Peter pauses in his stirring to rub the bridge of his nose. Great. Something else they clearly need to think about. “Once we find out what’s wrong,” he answers. It’s cagy, yes, but for all they know it’s something simple like the flu or a cold, and nothing to worry over, or tell Lydia’s mother about. “Jordan called someone to come over and check her over.”

Vee nods and returns to her dough. “I hope she’ll be well.”

Peter hopes so too.

He tenses when he hears Jordan enter with Melissa in tow, tracking their voices as they head up to Lydia. His nerves ratchet up when they door to the master closes, cutting off all but the bare murmur of voices.

Vee bumps his shoulder, hard, distracting him. “Noodles are ready.” He gives her a grateful smile. By the time they finish the soup Melissa still hasn’t left, and Peter shifts his weight, uncertain of what to do next.

“We have heavy cream, right Hale?” Vee’s question draws him back again. He’s fairly certain she even did it on purpose, not that he isn’t grateful. After a few seconds thought he nods. “Good, we can start ice cream then.” They’ve finished three different flavors—mint chocolate chip, raspberry, and sea salt—and been joined by Seph, who’d immediately started washing dishes after she found out what was going on, by the time Jordan shows Melissa the door.

Once again Jordan stops in the doorway. “Peter, Lydia’s got something to tell you.”

 _Great_ , now he feels even more nervous. After Vee gives him a hefty shove, he goes. “Tell me if it’s bad or not,” he says as they head up the stairs. He wants to know if he should prepare himself for the worst or not.

“Technically it’s good.” He’s not sure if he likes Jordan taking a page from his cryptic book.

They reach the bedroom door and Jordan gestures for Peter to go first. When he enters he’s grateful to see Lydia upright, even if it’s because she’s propped up against the headboard, wearing one of his shirts. She smiles at him, “hi.”

He goes to her, climbing into bed and curling up against her legs, settling his head in her lap. “Well?” He _needs_ to know.

Lydia starts carding her fingers through his hair. “Melissa wants me to come into the hospital to make sure, but she’s confident her guess is right.”

“Lydia…” She doesn’t sound unwell anymore, but he wishes she wouldn’t drag it out like this.

“Sorry Peter.” He can hear the smile in her voice. The bed shifts as Jordan joins them. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so anxious before.” He doesn’t get a chance to snap a reply since she continues. “I’m kind of nervous too. It’s not like I’d thought this would happen so soon. Granted we’re all at fault for this one.”

He pulls away enough to look at her. “Tell me, _please_.”

“Okay.” He watches as she takes a deep breath. “Peter, I’m pregnant.” His brain breaks, and all he can do is gape at her. “Peter?” Almost distantly he can hear Lydia’s voice, concern clear.

A large, warm hand—must be Jordan then—gives his shoulder a shake. “Peter?”

He comes back to himself, at least enough to be aware that both of them are looking at him worried. “I,” shaking off Jordan’s hand Peter climbs off the bed. “I’ll be back.” He feels like there are walls closing in on him, threatening a darkness he doesn’t remember, but still fears. Once outside the house he dashes to the front gate, leaping over it easily and continuing on to the preserve. He lets himself wolf out and runs.

—

Lydia knows she should have told someone she was going to Oak Creek, but she just _couldn't._  Not even Seph, Aldans, or Vee, who knew nothing of it's significance at all.Overall she’s not really sure _why_ she decided to go, only that now felt like the right time. It helps that she wants some time alone as well, some relative peace and quiet from the current hectic state the lake house has been in since Melissa had stopped by yesterday and told Lydia she was pregnant.

Somehow it looks even more abandoned than it did last time—not that she remembers much from last time beyond the yawning chasm of sorrow and the shouting of the Nogitsune. There isn't much in the way of sounds. No birds or crickets, or any signs of wildlife at all. Yet Oak Creek still echoes with noise. There are hundreds of dead here, and all keep trying to talk over each other. In fact there are so many competing voices that for once she can't actually 'hear' them. They’ve become a sort of white noise.

There's a spot of earth that looks like all the others, nothing special about it at all. It's still the place Lydia stops and kneels in front of. Putting her hands on the dry ground, she moves to rest her forehead on her hands, looking down at the spot where Allison died. She lets her tears fall freely. “I'm sorry Allison,” she manage to sob out. “I...I should have been clearer with my warning. I should have made you understand what was going to happen...” her words quickly turn back into sobs.

Sobs that dry up the instant she feels too-cold hands brush her shoulder and hair. “ _...there are ghosts after all and you never know who'll come back and when.”_ She doesn't want to look, fearing that it's just another spirit drawn to her emotions. ' _Shhh, Lydia.'_

Her tears return full force. “Allison, I'm sorry,” she chokes out.

 _'Hey, it was_ my _choice._ Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-même _, remember? How could I call myself your friend if I left you, helpless and afraid, in the clutches of a monster?'_

“A friend that would be _alive_ ,” a hint of anger creeps into her voice. “You could have still protected me without throwing your life away.”

Allison's ghostly hands turn so cold that even _Lydia_ thinks it's too much. ' _That too was_ my choice _Lydia. I might not have know I was going to die, but I knew I might not survive either. The warrior mentality. I made my choices and I want you to_ respect _that. Don't ignore them just so you can feel even more sorry for yourself.'_

Slowly Lydia uncurls her fingers, dirt and rocks slipping from her hands. After a few seconds she pushes herself upright and finally _looks_ at Allison. Not that there’s much to look at, it’s as if Allison’s been done in runny watercolors, all blurry and indistinct. It’s still Allison though and Lydia’s heart breaks a little. Most of what she feels is relief. Jordan had guessed right after all about her feeling guilt about not being able to save Allison, but her friend is still _here_ after a fashion. Even if it’s not the one Lydia would prefer for her. “Why are you here?” From what Danu's told her the dead aren't tethered to any one specific place, so Allison choosing to be here must have some significance.

Allison gives a shimmery shrug. ' _It isn't that bad really. Sometimes Mrs. Yukimura comes, and sometimes an older Japanese lady comes. Sometimes they come together and talk. Occasionally they play go. Despite all the chatter it can be peaceful here. Also...'_

“Also what?” Lydia presses.

 _'There's something...wrong with the rest of Beacon Hills. All the pain and anger here...blocks it for the most part, it's...safer here, than anywhere else. Especially compared to the Nemeton_.'

Lydia thinks she hates that blasted tree. If it weren't already dying the slowest death possible, she thinks she'd cut it down and try to kill it herself. Allison’s words worry her, because if there’s something wrong with Beacon Hills then it means they have to deal with it. Right now it feels like she’s got more than enough problems in her life. Like her current pregnancy, which at least had taken all of them by surprise. Though it seemed to be a good one from the view of her retinue, if the happiness that had filled the house in the past few days was any indication. Lydia dreads telling Morana however. Though she has no doubt that her mother will be overjoyed.

Her own feelings on it are...mixed. On one hand, she’s always wanted kids. On the other, those same children always happened in a distant ‘later’, not right as she’s about to head off to college. On the other, other hand, these past six months or so have been a roller coaster ride of unexpected life changes, so what’s pregnancy compared to that?

Jordan and Peter, and Vee, Seph, and Aldans, have been there for her. Even if Peter refused to talk about why he’d run off after being told. Personally she’s afraid to dig through the memories he gave her to see if the answer is in there somewhere. Beyond them she hasn’t quite worked up the courage to tell anyone else—and for a brief moment she can only think of how Natalie will react when she finds out—but she swears she will soon.

Add to that Scott’s, and thus his pack’s, irrational hatred—at least in her eyes—of Peter, and Lydia feels beset from all sides. The only people she feels she can trust already surrounding her and standing at her side. Which does bolster her, but that doesn’t mean she’s not looking forward to moving to Cambridge and just getting away from it all. So despite a part of her clambering not to Lydia asks: “What about the Nemeton?”

‘ _I, I guess I don’t know know my connection to it all that well.’_ Hazy eyes dart away. ‘ _I_ _t doesn’t feel the same as it did when I was alive.’_

Lydia finds herself recoiling. “You’re still connected to the Nemeton?” Lydia can’t quite put her finger on why, but she’s horrified. The thought of her best friend, like this for who knows how long? She shivers. Finding that’s a fate she wouldn’t even wish on Scott and Stiles at the moment.

Allison nods. ‘ _Yes. That’s why I’m...still here. I think.’_

Gods, why does that make everything seem worse? Her best friend’s still here, but against her will. Her stomach threatens to revolt and she stands. “I’m sorry, I’ve…” She hugs her arms around herself. “I need to go.” She doesn’t look back as she runs away. If she looks back she doesn’t know if she’ll ever stop crying.

*

Lydia hopes she doesn't annoy Danu too much by never calling ahead to tell her she's headed over. She's just never felt sure she's going over until she's already halfway there. Today though she's not hoping for a lesson in general. This time she had specific questions, questions brought about by her visit to Oak Creek yesterday. So her knock on the door is a little more insistent than usual, a tinge more hurried.

It feels like an eternity before Danu opens the door, her face showing it's usual lack of emotion. “Hello Lydia, come in.” Like her face, her voice betrays nothing on whether or not she's pleased or perturbed by Lydia's sudden appearance. Her hair's been pinned back in some sort of complicated braid that Lydia wishes she had the hair to pull off, and Danu's wearing yet another indigo dress, this one Regency looking.

Lydia manages to hold her questions in long enough to take off her sandals, hang up her purse, and follow Danu into the almost painfully tidy kitchen, taking a seat at the breakfast nook. In a tucked away dog bed Brian the pig sleeps peacefully. “Can a spirit be tied to an object?” She blurts out as Danu puts a kettle on to boil.

“Yes,” is her simple answer as she takes down mugs and begins setting up for tea.

As Lydia’s shoulders slump in relief, her mind begins to race on if she could undo it for Allison. Or was her best friend's tie to the Nemeton too strong? “How? And why?”

Danu shrugs as she sets out various cookies. “The reasons can vary. There are certain spells that can only be completed by tying a soul to an object. There are ways it can be done as punishment.” Her right hand rests briefly on the bracelet she wears. “Sometimes for safekeeping. As to the how,” she breaks off as the kettle shrieks. The next minute or so is spent finishing up tea Gratefully Lydia accepts her mug and takes a shortbread cookie from the plate. “For most applications,” Danu continues as she takes the other seat. “The soul must be willing and then it is only a matter of finding a proper receptacle and filling it with intent to pull the spirit in question into it.” She wraps her hands around her mug and seconds later it's only barely steaming. Lydia copies her, sending the barest tendril of cold into her mug to cool it to the perfect temperature. Would it be rude, she wonders, to ask how Danu does it? “Since they are willing, it's impolite to bind a spirit tightly. Though if the intent is to punish then you bind as tightly as possible, so there's no chance of the spirit escaping, save by your own deliberate hand. In such a case you must entice them in such a way that they do not know they are being trapped, not until it is too late.”

Lydia takes a sip of her tea. “Will you show me?” While she's primarily asking because of Allison, she can see how the knowledge would be useful in the long run.

Taking a gingersnap from the plate, Danu bites it in half. “After tea.” Slightly belying her words though she stands and walks out of the kitchen. Lydia trusts that if she wants Lydia to join her she'll call out. She soon returns, a scrimshawed animal bone—easy enough now for Lydia to tell the difference—in her hand. Offering it to Lydia, she sits. Before taking it Lydia finishes off her cookie, the carvings press lightly into her hands as she turns the scrimshaw over.

“This is a spirit spell for protection,” Danu says. “Feel it as thoroughly as possible. See what you can find out on your own.”

Before she dives completely into it, Lydia sets down the bone and wraps her hands once more around her mug. After taking a sip she begins pulling out the cold—strangely a much harder task than cooling—so her tea won't get tepid while she's distracted. Once it's steaming again she picks up the bone and runs her fingers over the carvings, sending out threads of her own banshee power as she does so.

Immediately she can feel the usual bone sparks and the spirit bound to it as well. After some more investigation she gets a flash of insight: _the spirit is tied to the sparks, which makes them stronger, extending the length of the bones use and powering the spell_. A sort of nearly self-sustaining circle. She also thinks she knows how to do it, but she'll still wait until after the practical demonstration. “The spirit tied to the sparks makes the spell nearly indefinite?”

Danu inclines her head slightly. “Indeed. Only one spirit may be tied to an object at a time, but when the object itself begins to fail you can move the spirit and spell to another object.”

“Is it always bone?” Putting down the scrimshaw she takes another cookie. If it is only bone she's going to have a hard time finding ones she can explain it away easily to outsiders.

“No actually, though bone is best. Any sort of ancient item will do: stones, fossilized wood, antiquities. Though like with bones, some will last longer than others.”

Lydia has a few more questions, but she'll save them for during or after the demonstration. All except one: “Is there a spell like this that can be used to stop nightmares?”

“I don't see why not.” Danu pops a chocolate truffle into her mouth, before taking a sip of tea. “The 'spell' portion is inspired by your intent, so if you intend your object to ward off bad dreams then that is the shape the spell will take. Have you been having nightmares?”

Lydia takes a sip of her own tea. “No,” she shakes her head. Not since she came back from the mound. “Peter is. Erwann said that he'd had them back when the two of them lived together, but that they're more frequent now.” Not that it's hard to notice that, what with the way Peter thrashes into wakefulness almost every night.

For the next few moments the only sound in the kitchen is Danu's nails against her mug—and the occasional piggish snore from Brian. “What sort of nightmares, if you do not mind me asking?”

Lydia stares pensively into her tea. “Peter doesn’t talk about them, but Jordan said before we returned from Court they were usually of the event that killed Peter's family.” Now they can't be. All of those memories are locked tight within her own mind, to deal out to Peter as she pleases. “He's always angry and argumentative afterwards, usually more towards everyone outside the household.” Which is good considering Seph is shy enough as it is. Lydia’s seen sales clerks jump when he follows her into a store.

Danu hums and the surface of her tea dances. “These hardly sound like the usual nightmares.” Lydia knows, but until minutes ago she didn't think she could do anything about them.

Part of Lydia wants to down the rest of her tea, and get started on the practical part of the lesson, but she has one more very important question she needs to ask first. “I'm pregnant. Will...will that affect my powers? Or will using my powers affect the baby?” She needs to know, one way or the other. There's a 98 percent chance that the necromancy won't. After all she's just passively listening, but what might the potential effects of using necrotheurgy be?

A hint of a genuine smile passes Danu's lips. “I know. It is cause for much celebration. Not to speak ill of our kind, but conception this quickly is rare.” Lydia will _not_ blush. “It took your parents twenty years to conceive you. Sometimes between one child and the next can lie centuries.” Danu's pointer finger traces the rim of her mug. “A safeguard, she once told me, to prevent us from overrunning those whose planet this is.” _She? Oh,_ Lydia realizes, _the Progenitor_. “As for the answer to your question,” Danu continues before Lydia can get a question edgewise. “Your child is still of _you_ for as long as they reside within you. Your powers will do nothing to them, nor will they affect them.”

Lydia doesn't bother to hide her relief.

In one swallow Danu finishes the rest of her tea, apparently content to let that be the end of the conversation. “Come, let us go and I will show you how it is done.”

Abandoning her own tea, Lydia still snags a chocolate chip cookie as Danu picks up the scrimshaw and leaves. This time Lydia follows. They make a brief stop into what looks like it might have been a study, where Danu leaves the scrimshaw and picks up a few more bone fragments. That done, Danu leads Lydia outside and down to the shore. “Despite different purposes, the tying of a spirit to an object will always be the same. You only need to learn the one to learn the other. If you are punishing then you'll also need to figure out an enticement, but that will vary for each spirit.” Danu hands off all her bones to Lydia before stepping into the water, her dress looking as if it doesn't even get damp.

Deciding it's just best for her to remain on the shore, Lydia tucks her own skirt under her and sits in the sand, decidedly glad it's not a windy day. She sees a few people nearby, and deciding to be safe she draws a camouflage glamour over herself. Danu soon returns and Lydia can feel a spirit hovering around her. “Bone please.” Danu holds out a hand.

Picking one at random she puts it in Danu's hand. “Now watch and pay attention.” Lydia focuses her eyes and her powers on Danu as she begins the process of shaping the spell into the bone and tying the spirit too it.

It looks more complex than Lydia thought it would, but she still thinks she can do it. “Now you try.”

Lydia nods and sets the remaining bone fragments down before standing. Walking a short distance away she starts reaching out with her powers.

_'Soon, soon, it all comes tumbling down.'_

_'That woman in the ocean goes to die willingly.'_

Ignoring the chatter of the spirits as best she can she sends out...feelers? To try and see if any of them would be receptive to her using them.

 _'I princess,'_ she feels a spirit settle around her. _'George Jakobson.'_

 _Thank you_ , she thinks at him, lightly she carries him back to Danu.

“Good, now pick an object.” Danu gestures at the bones still on the sand. This time uncaring of being decorous Lydia kneels and picks up one of the larger fragments. “Feel it in your mind, and focus on what you want it to do, then begin tying your spirit.” Danu says.

Nodding Lydia stares at the bone in her hands.  _I want us to be safe from nightmares_ , she thinks picturing herself, Jordan, and Peter. _I want us to have peaceful sleep_. Over and over she repeats those two thoughts as she begins weaving her power into the bone. Halfway through the fourth repetition she begins tugging on George, gently adding him to the pattern, over and over and over again until there's no more of George to add. She feels her shoulders sag and part of her wants to curl up in a nice shady spot and nap for a few hours. “I'm done,” she says as she stands, or she hopes she is.

“May I?” Danu holds her hands out and gently Lydia sets her spelled bone into her mentor's hands. She watches nervously as Danu inspects it turning it over in her hands, testing it with her own banshee senses. “Well done.” The barest hint of a smile lingers around her lips. “It will serve its purpose nicely. As a suggestion perhaps put it under the mattress instead of under the pillow—less likely to move.”

Lydia nods, taking the bone back. “I appreciate the thought.” Even though she's passed the test there's still a small bundle of nerves in her chest. “You mentioned moving the spell and spirit to another item, but what if the spirit's been bound to a...living object?” She's pretty sure she could have worded that better, but she can't think of how at the moment.

A tiny sigh escapes Danu as she settles into the sand. “I was wondering when you might ask after that tree.”

Not bothering to hide the surprise on her face, Lydia sits again. “You know about the Nemeton?”

Danu nods. “Even though we are Banshees, I've been on this Earth for long enough that I can sense such loci, and despite it's...rancid feel, this one's influence is large.” She makes a sweeping gesture. “Even here it makes itself known, and I dare say the only reason it's halted here is because of the ocean.” She sets a hand on the sand and Lydia watches as a stream of water goes against the retreating tide to wrap itself around Danu's arm. “No tree, no matter how strong, can grow in salt water.” The water slithers back down and returns to the ocean. “So there is a spirit tied to it?”

Lydia nods. “About a year ago,”—she can't believe it's been that long—“there was a Darach making sacrifices to the Nemeton, and to prevent her from getting more power three of my,” her throat locks up on the word 'friend'. “My peers, tied themselves to it. A few months after that one of them died.” She rubs a hand across her eyes to stop the gathering tears. “I hadn't even realized she was still around until yesterday.”

An arm wraps around Lydia's shoulders, shocking her, she turns her head to see Danu's black eyes staring at her intently. “I know you want me to say that you can do it, that you can wrench her away from that rotting tree and keep her with you always.” Danu's thumb begins rubbing circles into the crook of Lydia's neck. “What she did was different. She willingly bound herself to it in life. Even if she didn't quite know what she was agreeing too. There is no way to break her free.” Lydia appreciates Danu's brutal honesty, but hates it all the same.

Pulling her legs up to her chest, she buries her face in her knees and lets the tears she tried to stop earlier loose. The whole while Danu embraces her, thumb never ceasing. When the tears cease she doesn't feel any better, but she uncurls herself and does her best to make herself presentable. That done she finds she has a different question for Danu. “What would happen if you shattered an object a spirit was tied to?”

Danu pulls away, resettling herself as if she'd never even touched Lydia. “You know, I have no idea. I will be back momentarily.” She takes another bone fragment as she stands and once more walks into the ocean. A much greater length of time passes than last time before she comes back. Again she sits and uncurls her hand to show the bone in it. Lydia watches as Danu focuses completely on the bone to the exclusion of all else. Just in case, Lydia extends her camouflage to a ten foot radius around them. That done she returns her own focus to the bone, watches as it begins to grow cracks, shards of it beginning to fall away. Until with a _bang_ it shatters completely, bone flying everywhere. Still Danu is silent for the next few moments. “Hmm.”

“What?” It comes out more impatient than Lydia would like.

“The spirit's gone, completely.”

Even though she's the one who asked the question, Lydia doesn't know how she feels about that.

—

Scott and Stiles stand outside the new gates leading to the completely rebuilt lake house; they’re both kind of gaping. “Wow.”

Stiles has to agree with Scott on that one, this place is a complete 180 from the last one, hell there’s even a scarecrow watching over abundant garden beds. They’ve been standing here for about the past half an hour, vaguely trying to figure out what to do. They want to get inside, but from the way Lydia’s been acting around them they’re certainly not going to be invited in; and there are vicious looking hedges surrounding most of the property. So their only real option is to jump the gate.

Granted they’re damn lucky that Melissa was willing to give them the address, though she refused to say anything about why she’d been called over the other day. “Come on Scott,” Stiles wheedles. “Just boost me over and then you can use your awesome werewolf jumping skills.” Scott rolls his eyes, but like the best friend he is he makes a cradle for Stiles’s foot. Then he’s over the gate and Scott’s beside him soon after, eyes darting around for any potential threats.

They approach slowly, taking in the changes to the lake house. The oaks lining the driveway, the beds full of vegetables and herbs flanking those, the actual house itself.

It’s kind of amazing, but Stiles has to wonder how Lydia managed to keep all this from them. He shakes his head. No, she couldn’t have been able to hide all this from them. It must have wholly been Peter’s doing, and he’d just pulled Lydia and Parrish into it. Beside him Scott tenses, “What?” He hisses.

“I thought I heard something,” Scott whispers in reply.

Now Stiles finds himself straining his hearing as well, though for all he knows whatever Scott heard was in the house. All Stiles can hear is the sounds of the occasional car behind them and the wind in the trees… Except he can’t feel a breeze, so how… He looks around to see that yes, all of the trees are swaying in some unfelt wind. He jerks Scott’s shirt to catch his attention. “The trees,” he mutters. Although it seems that more than just the trees are moving.

“Trespassers.” A voice that reminds Stiles of windy grass fields speaks from behind them. “You are both lucky that I am not allowed to kill you.”

Stiles doesn’t know whether to feel afraid or get mouthy like he seems to do with every other person that threatens him. Before either he or Scott can whirl around to see who their mystery voice belongs to, something wraps around his ankles, and Scott’s too—which is how he finds out it’s _vines_ —and they’re both being hoisted up, ending up upside down. “So let us see what is to be done with you.” They start moving.

While he’s still not able to ‘turn around’ Stiles can turn his head, behind them all he can see is a mass of vines, but Scott’s clearly trying to escape, all wolfed out and struggling, but all that does is get more vines wrapped around him. They don’t go into the house, but around it. To an expansive back porch. Where Peter’s sitting at a table, typing away on a laptop.

 _This just keeps getting better and better_ , Stiles thinks bitterly. He twists, trying to surprise Swamp Thing, but it doesn’t work. “Hey Peter, if you’re gonna deal with us the least you could do is give us a fighting chance!” The neighbors next door probably hear his shout, but Stiles hardly cares. In fact that might be a good thing.

Peter looks up from his screen, expression growing angry before his shoulder slump in a sigh...then he turns his attention right back on his screen.

“Hey!” Scott joins in on the shouting.

Before they can harass Peter any more than that, they both get a shake. “If you do not quiet I will gag you,” ST says.

Stiles falls silent, more because he’d rather not figure out how Swamp Thing would gag them.

All of his blood feels like it’s in his head by the time Peter finally seems to finish and actually turn his attention to them. He stands and descends the stairs. “You can put them down Aldans.” Wait, _this_ is whoever that weird Envy-woman was talking about? Where the fuck did Peter drag Lydia and Parrish that they’d meet something like Swamp Thing? “You might as well be gentle.”

“Thanks.” Scott being sarcastic? Stiles feels so proud.

Aldans does actually lower them gently and Stiles doesn’t feel any sort of head rush when he stands up on his own two legs, next to him Scott looks ready to attack. Even if Peter doesn’t, _asshole_.

“Thank you Aldans, you can go now.” Peter doesn’t even look at them. Because Stiles can’t not know he turns his head as far around as he can, to see the _scarecrow_ he’d noticed from the gate, well, _walking_ away. _What the actual fuck?!_ “So,” Peter’s barely annoyed tone brings Stiles back to the problem at hand. “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing?”

Scott growls. “What? You killing us here not dramatic enough for you?”

Peter has the audacity to roll his eyes. “Why on Earth would I want to kill you, Scott? What purpose would that serve me?”

“You’d be an Alpha again,” Stiles answers quickly.

Peter actually _laughs_. Doubled over, tear inducing, laughter.

It’d be funny if it weren’t so bizarre.

When Peter straightens he looks more like his smug, asshole self. “Thank you for the suggestion Stiles, but no, I don’t need to be an Alpha anymore.” And Stiles doesn’t want Lydia anymore.  _P_ _lease_ , if Stiles didn’t already know Peter was the lyingest liar to ever lie, hearing that would’ve cemented the idea. “Now,” Peter crosses his arms. “Are you two going to leave the property willingly or am I going to have to call the sheriff?” Despite his dad not trusting Peter anymore than he does, Stiles knows if the department gets called he’ll be in major shit.

Before he can say something along the lines of ‘we’ll go but fuck you’ Scott speaks. “We’ll go.”

Peter tilts his head. “Thank you. Now I’m sure Aldans will be more than happy to make sure you both leave the way you came.” It isn’t surprising at all that they’re getting the bum’s rush. Though Stiles is pretty sure there’s something werewolf-rude about the way Peter turns his back and heads up the stairs, like he doesn’t consider them a threat at all.

They leave quickly though, not daring to speak to each other until Scott pulls his bike off the side of the highway back into Beacon Hills. Scott takes his helmet off while Stiles is still fumbling with the strap on his own—it’s hard okay? “That was…”

Stiles finally yanks his helmet off. “Freaky? Pod People-y? Something to freak the fuck about?” Anger sparks in him. “I mean seriously ‘ _I don’t need to be an Alpha anymore_.’” He gives a derisive snort.

Scott looks worried. “Stiles, he wasn’t lying when he said that.”

Say what now?! Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t believe it. Hell it wouldn’t surprise me if Peter’s perfected the art of lying to werewolves. If anyone could do it, it’d be that bastard.” Relief and confusion war on Scott’s face, and his heart goes out to his bro. After all, Scott’s got a helluva lot more responsibilities than most seventeen year olds. Raising his hand he claps Scott on the shoulder. “Come on man, this is Peter we’re talking about. The Big Bad. The Ganondorf to your Link.”

A smile twitches at Scott’s lips. “Not a Star Wars reference?”

“No. Though I guess by werewolf standards Peter could totally be Darth Vader.” If Darth Vader didn’t have a redemption arc. “Now come on, let’s head back home and eat. Then we can talk about what we want to do about Swamp Thing and the house.”

Scott gives a sharp nod before turning back around, the both of them slipping their helmets back on before Scott starts his bike again and they’re pulling back onto the highway. As they head closer into town Stiles’ mind churns with ideas. Deaton’s been teaching him a lot of cool tricks recently, some of which he thinks would even take Peter by surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: marking and planting.
> 
> So there won't be a new chapter next week folks! (which should give you all time to recover from the feels I tossed your way) It's my birthday and I'll be taking a well deserved break!


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Major thanks to my awesome Beta Elle, who basically swooped in and edited this despite her personal stuff. You are the freaking best!

Derek feels unsettled, antsy, something in him not sitting right like a rotten tooth he just doesn’t know about yet. It nags at him, steadily building up his frustration and temper. He manages to hold most of it back while he’s with Malia, teaching her how to access her senses and use them as best as she can. Neither of them, nor her coyote contact Richard, can figure out why she still can’t fully shift, but Derek likes to think that if she can just get control of herself in human form then it will carry over to _changing_ her body as well.

As for his own shift, he finds he’s using it less and less, not willing to give himself fully to his animal self. Though if he was asked why he wouldn’t be able to explain it. Just something about it does not sit right with him, like there’s something wrong with it. It just adds to his general state of annoyance, until Derek feels like even the slightest little thing could set him off. He hasn’t felt that way in a long time, yet it feels disturbingly right. Like he needs to be hyper aware, angry, and ready to go for when he’s needed.

He doesn’t even think to wonder by whom, or for what.

So he’s not quite sure why he heads to the family vault. He hasn’t been there since his mom’s birthday and his moment with Peter. Peter...anger burns in his belly, demanding he strike out. Who did his uncle think he was, leaving them like he had? Leaving his _daughter_. Did they mean nothing to him? Was he so wrapped up in his... _wrong_ relationship that they didn’t matter anymore? Had he forgotten family came first? Especially after all they’d been through?

 _He only cares for himself_ , a familiar voice tells him. _You know that. He’s not your uncle anymore. The fire saw to that._

Yes, yes it had. Peter had even told Derek that himself: the man he used to be had been burned out of him while the rest of the Hales burned around him. The school’s empty for the summer of course, not that Derek really cares, not with a familiar scent—old books and new hints of cold that make some part of Derek want to step back and think, which the rest of him ignores—assaulting his nose.

Opening the vault is as easy as breathing and he leaps down the stairs, eyes darting around before they’ve even had time to adjust to the change in lighting. There’s Peter, shelving a book, looking for all the world like nothing’s wrong, or changed. Except everything has.

“Peter,” Derek snarls, feeling himself shift slightly.

His _uncle_ turns, and arches an all too familiar eyebrow. “I know you and I haven’t exactly talked or seen each other in the past month, but does that really mean you need to pull out all the werewolf stops Derek?” Dry amusement fills his voice and tinges his scent.

The anger in Derek gets stoked higher. “What are you doing here?” This was the _Hale_ vault, even if Peter bore the name it wasn’t his anymore.

“Research,” Peter sighs. “Looking for an impossible answer to a simple question.”

Dark satisfaction that for once Peter seems to be failing fills Derek. “Well you need to _leave_ ,” he punctuates his command with a growl.

Peter bares his teeth, wolf teeth, in response. “Whatever for Derek? I have a right to be here, just as much as you.”

 _Make him pay! He escaped us and we cannot allow it to pass!_ Derek knew right where to hit Peter hardest. “No you don’t Peter. This is the Hale vault, and as far as I’m concerned you’re no longer a Hale. You haven’t been since the fire.”

“Derek…” Peter’s confused, stepping towards him, hand outstretched, as if that would be enough to make things right. “What’s wrong?” The false concern coming from Peter makes Derek sick. He doesn’t understand what Peter’s failing to get from this conversation.

Before Peter can even touch him Derek steps back, letting out more of his own wolf. “ _Get out_!” He roars. “You’re not my uncle. My uncle _died_. He died just like the rest of my family. You might wear his face, and speak in his voice, but you don’t smell like him, and you sure as hell don’t act like him.” Pain, sweet wonderful pain, explodes from Peter, who seems frozen to the spot. “If you’re not gone in the next five minutes I’m going to kill you, again.” It hadn’t been easy that first time, too caught up in grief and emotion, but this time Derek thinks he could do it easy. Make sure it stuck, that Peter truly was dead.

Peter growls, and bares his teeth—that small part of Derek wonders why Peter’s eyes haven’t flashed yet—but moves, only to stop when he steps flush with Derek. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you Derek, but I’m willing to talk to you again...later.”

_Lies! His heart is a quagmire that consumes all you give it. There is no room in that selfish shell for concern or love!_

Derek’s so caught up in himself that he doesn’t even realize Peter’s left until he blinks and realizes how dark it’s gotten in the vault. Sinking to his knees, Derek stares at the concrete floor and tries not to cry for some reason.

—

Peter storms into the house. Intent on heading upstairs and…he’s not exactly sure what he’ll do, but he certainly needs to do _something_. Except before he can even hit the stairs, Vee’s before him, blocking his way. “Move,” he snarls, his fangs making him sound more menacing.

She snarls right back, some of her human shell falling away to show off a forked tongue and needle-sharp teeth. “No.” She crosses her arms. “I’m not letting you take all that anger up to Lydia.”

The need to protect Lydia—even from himself—wars with the rage bubbling up inside him, causing him to snarl again, “I outrank you.” It’s even true on various counts.

Not that Vee’s intimidated. Uncrossing her arms she sets one of her hands on his chest, pushing just enough to show that she’s stronger than she looks. “You and I can either go outside and spar, or you can beat dough into submission. Either way I’m not going to let you upstairs until you’ve calmed down.”

“Outside,” he snaps, spinning around and storming through the house to the back door. He barrels past Seph, who squeaks and presses herself against the wall—the miniscule part of him not angry feels a flash of guilt. On the porch he strips off his shirt, shoes, and socks before storming to the patch of grass they’ve marked off for training.

Vee joins him about a minute later, her features appearing calm and unworried. She comes to a stop a few feet away from him and shifts her weight slightly. He lunges, claws extended, intent on ending this quickly. Even with his rage he won’t kill her. He’s not _that_ mindless. She bats him away easily, her hand pushing his shoulder sending him sprawling.

He’s up in a second however and diving for her again, not exactly catching her off guard, but he gets an ‘in’ as it were. Her hand rises up to shove him off and he sinks his teeth into the meat of her arm. A hiss escapes her but her hand’s in his hair, talons digging into his scalp and jerking his head back, tearing his teeth from her arm. In the same move she tosses him away towards the lake, his body sliding to a halt in the sand. Leaping up his nose flares at the scents of blood and smoke, he’s close enough that he can tell she’s already starting to heal, though the wound is dripping blood, which hardly deters him as he goes for her again.

Overall he has no idea how long they fight—and it truly is a fight—but in the end Vee pins him to the grass. “Better?” Her breath is ragged, and Peter feels a burst of pride that he put up a good fight.

He gives serious thought to the question. The rage is still there—he highly doubts it’s going away anytime soon—but it has calmed some, enough that he feels more like himself. He slaps the ground and she lets him go. Rolling over he stares at the cloudless sky, squinting from the sun. “Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about why you came home looking like you might kill something?” Her tone is casual, but he can feel her gaze intently upon him.

“ _You’re not my uncle.”_ Anger and pain lance through him again at Derek’s words. “No,” it sounds petulant though, like in even saying that he’s not getting his way.

Vee doesn’t press though, and seconds later she’s standing above him, one of her hands reaching out to help him up. Even if his body is healing it’s not healing as fast as he’d like, so he groans slightly as he takes the offered hand, his body protesting the sudden movement as she yanks him up. “I appreciate it.” Despite the fact that Jordan and Vee—and Lydia when she wants to work on her self-defense—spar regularly, Peter doesn’t often take part. So it does feel good to let loose and not have to worry too much about seriously injuring his opponent. In fact Vee looks more healed than he is.

She waves her hand. “Not a problem. It was fun.”

In silence they return to the house, Vee to the kitchen—where he hears Seph insisting Vee wash her hands before cooking again—and Peter upstairs. Stripping completely he takes a quick shower, then towels off and climbs into bed. Lydia stretches and blinks at him, probably woken up by the shower. “Hey, what’s up?”

Her question is unexpected, and he finds himself automatically checking the bond to make sure it didn’t accidentally slip open. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

She turns over, cuddling against his side, and inside him his wolf howls with joy. “Please Peter, I know you all too well.” Her hand settles on his chest, fingers tracing abstract designs on it. While he buries his nose in her hair, greedily taking in her comforting chilly scent and the muskiness from her pregnancy. Just thinking of that fills him with terror and elation. The idea of him being able to actually being a father is one he doesn’t exactly want to contemplate. Let alone the fact that he loves these two people far more than he probably has any right too, even if they’ve chosen time and again to stand by his side.

It’s just...he’s terrified he’ll screw up again, and that this time it really will be the final straw. Kids...it’s a commitment he didn’t ever expect honestly with these two.

A sigh escapes him. “Derek and I fought.”

Her expression is taken aback, which Peter firmly agrees with. It had taken him completely by surprise as well. “Tell me.” Even though she doesn’t say ‘please’ it’s clearly a request. One he finds he’s more inclined to honor than Vee’s straightforward question.

He tell her, about how he’d gone into the vault again to see if there was a book there he had yet to comb through about werewolves getting tattoos. He’d run into Derek on the way out after an hour’s fruitless searching, and… “Derek had some choice words for me.” Even with her he finds he’s not willing to go any more in-depth than that, afraid what emotions repeating those words might revive in him.

Lydia presses a kiss to his shoulder, but doesn’t say anything.

—

“You’re not focused.” Coming from Danu it doesn’t _quite_ sound like criticism, but it doesn’t stop Lydia from flushing slightly.

“Sorry.” She turns her attention back to the femur in her hands. Danu was trying to teach her how to actually activate the sparks in bones, but no matter how much she focuses all she can think about is Peter. With a sigh she gives up. “I don’t think I can do this right now.” She feels bad about it, but she’s getting better at accepting her boundaries, at least when it comes to banshee stuff.

Danu nods and takes the femur from Lydia, respectfully putting it back in the box with all of the other bones. The hem of her indigo sundress flutters as she stands. “Would you like to talk about it? I just bought a chamomile tisane that seems well suited to the situation.”

“You don’t have to share,” Lydia demurs as she stands too. Recently Danu’s been insisting on more ‘formal’ conversation between the both of them—to train Lydia, according to Danu.

“I insist,” Danu replies as she leads the both of them out of the study.

Lydia tilts her head slightly. “Then I accept.”

Together they went into the kitchen. “Where’s Brian?” Even though it’s been over a month since she found out, Lydia still finds it strange that Danu has a pet _pig_.

“Outside.” Danu sets the kettle on to boil and begins pulling out the usual sweets that seem to accompany every faerie meal. She scoops the dried leaves into the pot and pours the hot water in, moving it to the table to steep before bring everything else over and taking a seat. “What is bothering you?”

“Peter,” Lydia answers with a sigh. At the beginning of their relationship she’d thought any problems they’d have would be mainly external, with maybe one or two personal bumps. Yet here they are. It’s become clear he’s ecstatic over the baby. Why else would he dote on her and cuddle nearly every night? But…there's still a wariness about him that frustrates her. However, she’s not sure if she wants to be going to Danu for relationship advice. There is the practical problem though. “We, well Peter mostly, have been trying to figure out a way to tattoo him that doesn’t involve burning it on to his skin.” She definitely knows why he’d rather avoid that.

Danu hums and pours the tea, the pale golden liquid steaming slightly. “Have you asked your mother?”

Lydia blushes and picks up her mug to hide behind. “No.”

“Have you told her you’re pregnant?” Breaking a gingersnap in half Danu pops half of it into her mouth.

“No,” Lydia mutters into her mug. She’s anxious about telling people. There are bad things afoot in Beacon Hills and it feels like the fewer people that know the better.

Another hum from Danu, this one a little judgy. “I may know of a way, though I’ve never attempted it on a werewolf.”

Lydia starts, nearly sloshing her tea. “You do?” Granted it had never occurred to Lydia that Danu might have a solution. She’s only ever thought of her in terms of banshee things; Lydia feels embarrassed and chastised at the same time.

“Mmm, yes. While I do not know about modern tattooing practices, centuries ago many fae were having the same sort of problem—their healing rejecting the process. If you have the right ingredients and know the spells it is possible to make them permanent.” She finishes off her gingersnap.

“Would you be willing to do it?” Danu’s already done so much for her, Lydia feels almost bad for asking her to do more.

Danu inclines her head slightly. “Yes I would. But you must buy the ingredients and the tools.”

That sounds like a fair trade. “What do I need?”

—

Peter doesn’t know whether or not he should be amused or frustrated that all he had to do to find the answer to his search was hunt down Lydia’s teacher and ask her.

They’re sitting outside. Having insisting it would be better, Danu pulled some chairs from the porch onto the grass. There’s a small table next to them too, with all of the supplies Lydia’d bought the other day laid out on it. Danu’s standing in front of it, hands moving as she mixes and blends, muttering to herself all the while. For a change Jordan’s the one sitting in his lap—insisting he’d be better able to take whatever Peter needed to do to deal with the pain—and Lydia is leaning against both their legs, looking like she’s asleep.

He’s still not sure how he feels about her pregnancy, but it’s becoming easier to think about as the days pass. Easier to let himself be more affectionate with the both of them, like his wolf wants. Easier to realize that he won’t exactly be alone in raising this child, and that Lydia and Jordan have just as much a stake in this as him. “Where shall we be doing the first one?” Danu’s question tosses him from his train of thought and he looks up at her standing next to him, a bowl in her hands.

He holds up his right arm. “The forearm.” He lays it flat on the arm of the chair.

“The design?”

The three of them have gone back and forth over what they wanted, and where. They’d come to an agreement before they’d even known Lydia was pregnant. Jordan speaks before Peter does, his hand coming up and fingers tracing shapes across Peter’s skin. “A yew tree.” He traces upwards. “With branches in full green.” His fingers move down to stroke the pulse at Peter’s wrist. Peter buries his face in the crook of Jordan’s neck, setting his teeth lightly into the skin there. “Roots here.”

“Hold the bowl please.” Peter hears something slosh a little as, he assumes, Jordan takes the bowl.

He hears footsteps retreat and return, then the sound of something stirring. “This will hurt,” Danu warns, though it hardly sounds as if Danu’s trying to reassure him. Not that he really wants to be reassured at the moment. Feeling Danu’s fingers trace something on his arms, Peter pulls his face away from Jordan, not to watch as Danu hammers ink into his skin murmuring to herself all the while, but to stare out across the yard towards the lake. He can see Seph sitting at the lake’s shore, studiously watching Danu’s pet pig.

The sight of the pig had certainly caught him off guard at first, until he remembered his gran’s stories, and who Danu’s husband was. Although considering the fae seemed basically immortal, why Manannán mac Lir would keep supposedly immortality granting pigs was odd, but he decides it’s best not to ask Danu if killing and eating Brian would make him temporarily immortal, not while she was tattooing him.

For now the pain of the needle going in and out is manageable, but it’s already starting to build on itself the more she works. Danu had told him before that this would all have to be done in one go, no stopping for a few days before continuing, so he expects there will be more pain later on. However in the grand scheme of things this hurt far less than being burned alive had. As the minutes start building into hours the pain becomes almost background sensation. He can’t ignore it, but it’s not exactly taking up his every thought.

Lydia had gotten up a half hour ago and is walking around the yard. He finds his eyes tracking her, making sure she’s alright. Tearing his gaze away from her—she’ll be _fine,_ there are four other people who can look after her while he’s caught up in this—he looks down, surprised to see that Danu’s nearly finished with his yew tree tattoo.

The brown branches swirl and interweave with each other, tiny green needles covering them all, reaching up to the crook of his arm. Danu’s working on the roots, which encircle his wrist like a shackle. He’s relieved that it seems to be working though. The tattoo exactly as it should be, which he considers a wonder.

Danu pulls her hands away. The needle-like device she’s using goes into the half-full bowl of ink in Jordan’s hands, while the small hammer gets dropped in Jordan’s lap. Her hands then clamp onto Peter’s arm and she speaks a word in a language he doesn’t know. The pain builds in an instant, and he can feel himself start to wolf out, claws digging into Jordan’s side. He’ll make it up to the other man later. When Danu removes her hands the tattoo’s done, almost innocuous looking there on his arm. Except when Peter stares at it all he can think about is Jordan, _Erwann_ , the man who’s also a tree, who happily submits to Peter, but isn’t afraid of standing up for himself, or speaking his mind. The man who’s willingly admitted, and repeated, that he loves Peter. Peter tears his eyes away, feeling shaken, though not in a bad way.

“You are going to have to move Erwann,” Danu’s voice breaks through his train of thought. There’s a moment of shuffling, and then Peter’s offering up his other forearm. “On this arm?”

Lydia is by his side, her fingers trace a design as well. Unlike where Jordan’s was smooth and sinuous, her lines are short, and jagged. “My scream,” she says simply. It had taken her a while to find a studio that could actually record the sound, but she eventually had and Peter had to admit there was something strange about seeing a physical representation of that sound.

Danu gets a curious expression on her face, but nods. Picking up her needle she swirls it around the bowl a few times, muttering and he stares as the ink in the bowl shifts colors from the brown it had been to a dark blue. She taps the needle against the side of the bowl three times, then dips the needle in again. He pulls his eyes away as he feels the needle press into his skin. Unlike the tree, the sound wave doesn’t take all that long, for which Peter is grateful. Danu goes through the same ritual as she did finishing the previous one, and like that they’re done.

Peter can’t take his eyes off them, though he can’t quite pinpoint why that’s so. They make him happy, which if he’s honest with himself he finds vaguely disturbing. His life’s been one fucked up event after another since, well, college apparently. In fact he’s half afraid something will go wrong with Jordan and Lydia, that this is just the calm before the storm.

“Peter?” He starts, looking around to see Danu and her pig have clearly left, and it’s just the three of them in the yard. Lydia’s standing in front of him and Jordan, holding out her hand. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

He takes her hand.

—

The three of them are curled up naked and mostly submerged in their water filled tub. Jordan and Lydia on either side of Peter, who still looks a little dazed from what just happened. Peter’s eyes darting to each of his forearms where Danu had put the tattoos. Then again Jordan finds himself drawn to them too, the sweeping and tangled curls of the yew tree on Peter’s right, and the sharp jagged lines of the sound of Lydia’s scream on his left. Looking at them makes Jordan feel...well like he does whenever the scar on his own forearm catches his eye, warm and aware of how much he’s cared for.

Now Peter has that too, or Jordan hopes he does, wondering if this might be enough to get the man to admit he loves them; Jordan knows Peter does, but for some reason Peter still won’t admit it. Jordan won’t press, knowing all too well that pressing won’t get Peter to open up. With an internal sigh he reaches out across Peter and Lydia and traces a finger over one of the yew’s branches, making Peter shiver.

Lydia stirs as well, her eyes fluttering open. None of them have nightmares thanks to the charm Lydia made, but that doesn’t stop Lydia from being tired thanks to the pregnancy. Just thinking that fills him with joy and a tinge of worry. He and Yvonne had know for what seemed like forever that of the two of them only he would be able to produce children, and it never failed that about once a century she’d gently rib him for nieces and nephews to dote on. Now he is, and a vast new plain of potentially terrifying ‘what ifs?’ has been opened up to him.

The child might not even be his. Not that he still won’t love them when they’re born. If it’s not biologically his child they’ve still already agreed that both he and Peter will still be ‘dad’. Lydia talking pulls him from his musings. “What’re you doing now?” She yawns and one of her hands comes to rest on his arm, right over his bite scar.

“Just thinking,” Jordan answers readily.

Peter gives a quiet snort. “Feeling like I might fall asleep myself.”

A soft laugh leaves Lydia. “Of the two of us I’m sure I’ve got a better reason to fall asleep.”

“You try getting magical tattoos and see how you feel afterwards,” Peter affectionately snaps back, making Jordan laugh.

He watches as Lydia moves, her head burying itself in the crook of Peter’s neck and the rest of her moving to straddle him. Jordan’s cock twitches in interest. “I,” she starts, kissing a trail up Peter’s neck as Jordan swallows back a sound, “think they’re sexy.” She lays a kiss on his jawline. “I want you to show them off all the time,” she murmurs as she rubs her cheek against his. “Want everyone to see them.”

Peter groans and Lydia soon swallows it in a kiss. Part of Jordan wants to just sit back and watch, the rest want to join it. Leaning in he kisses Lydia’s shoulder, tongue darting out to lap up some of the water beading on her skin. As he moves across her back with his mouth he can feel Lydia hum in pleasure. He faintly feels her hips rolling against Peter’s cock. Peter’s hands leave the rim of the tub, sinking under the water to grasp Lydia’s hips.

He breaks their kiss. “Playing a dangerous game sweetheart.”

“With you two?” Jordan can just imagine the smile on her face. “Always. Jordan?”

Now he’s the one humming, leaving off lavishing attention on her shoulders to rest his cheek on her shoulder. “Yes Lydia?”

“Be a dear and get the lube and condoms?”

He groans, and turning his head he kisses her shoulder, then leans over her to kiss Peter on the mouth and gets an eager response. With a sigh he pulls away and stands up, sending water sloshing. Climbing out of the tub he doesn’t bother drying off, leaving a trail of wet footsteps as he heads towards where all the sex stuff is. Behind him he can hear kissing and sounds of pleasure, arousing him even more. He snatches up both items quickly, making sure the lube isn’t water based, and hurries back, eager to rejoin in any capacity he can, or feels like. In his absence Peter and Lydia have really started to go at it, Lydia obviously grinding against Peter as he assaults her breasts.

 _Blight_ , but they’re so damn attractive. Setting his items in easy reaching distance Jordan rejoins them in the tub, slotting himself against Peter’s side and impulsively rutting against the other man’s hip. Peter breaks away from Lydia to chuckle, “Hello to you too Jordan.” He turns his head and kisses Jordan on the mouth, teeth digging in just enough to send sparks shooting through him. One of Peter’s hands hooks around his waist to tease at his cock “You know,” Peter says almost conversationally, “I do believe I owe you for earlier.”

Jordan arches into the touch, a low groan of his own escaping. “What, what do you mean?” As far as he knows Peter doesn’t owe him anything.

Peter’s hand leaves his cock, much to his disappointment, and slides to his hip, stroking the skin there. “Mmm.” Through the water Jordan can see Lydia has Peter’s cock in hand, stroking up and down. Blinking Peter seems to get a better hold of himself. “I went and clawed you all up.” His claws stroke against Jordan’s skin as if in emphasis. Hips bucking against Peter, Jordan groans, causing Peter and Lydia to laugh affectionately. Peter’s claws leave his skin. “Up on the rim,” Peter orders as his hand slides under Jordan’s thigh, encouraging Jordan up.

Jordan goes, settling himself on the rim of the tub, as close to Peter as he can. Before he lets himself get too involved with Peter he hands off the condoms and lube to Lydia, who darts up and kisses his chest. “Thank you dear.” Almost distantly he hears her pop the cap.

Jordan would respond, except Peter’s got his hand around Jordan’s cock again and he’s turning his head to lean in, and a shout escapes him as Peter’s hot mouth slides onto him. It still manages to surprise him how good Peter’s blow jobs are, how each one is a little different from the last. His mind goes a little blank as Peter scrapes one of his fangs up the entire length of him, soothing the hurt with his tongue.

“Fucking  _rot_!” Somehow he doesn’t orgasm, but Peter’s obviously happy about the response, humming as he sinks down further.

Peter’s movements change slightly and looking down Jordan sees that Lydia’s firmly seated on Peter, her hands around Peter’s neck as she rocks up and down, breathy moans leaving her with every movement. Needing to do _something_ with his hands Jordan threads one into Peter’s hair, while the other clutches the rim of the tub behind him tightly so he, hopefully, doesn’t go falling back. He feels one of Lydia’s hands settle on the one clutching the rim of the tub. Loosening his hold and weaving their fingers together, he squeezes her hand, and gives a whimpering moan as Peter finally wrenches his orgasm from him.

Pulling his head up with an obscene slurp, Peter grins up at Jordan, who can’t even muster the effort to roll his eyes. “How do you do that?” Jordan groans, throwing his leg back over the rim and slipping into the tub, somehow managing to stop himself from sliding all the way under. For the moment Jordan’s content to stay where he is, watching as Peter and Lydia work their way towards orgasm. Lydia reaches hers first, her head falling forward as she gasps and shudders. From the way she keeps moving up Peter must still be thrusting, but even that soon stops. Jordan’s pretty sure Peter hasn’t actually orgasmed yet though.

“Peter?” Jordan shimmies back over, watching as Peter lifts Lydia off himself. She groans softly as he settles her against the rim across from them.

Before Jordan can repeat his question he finds himself being subjected to Peter’s attentions, namely being pulled onto his lap and kissed senseless. When they break apart Peter dives in, setting his teeth against Jordan’s jaw briefly. “I’d rather not bother the baby.”

“Oh my god Peter,” Lydia’s voice somewhere between a groan and a gripe. “They're barely a month old. One orgasm in a condom is hardly going to bother them.”

This close up it’s hard for Jordan to miss the actual worry that flickers across Peter’s face. Jordan keeps it to himself. Instead he settles his hands on Peter’s forearms and brings them to settle on his waist. “Then you’d better hope Lydia didn’t use up all the lube.”

“The actual worst,” Lydia declares from behind him. He and Peter share bemused looks as one of Peter’s hands leave his waist to feel about for the lube.

“More to the left,” Jordan tells him.

Peter snatches it up, popping the cap as he brings it over. “Hmmm,” he frowns. “We might have to get more soon.”

“Yes,” Lydia sounds drowsy. “Because you’re an incubus not a werewolf.”

It startles a laugh out of Peter, a blob of lube squirting out onto his fingers. “I’m not sure I should be insulted or pleased.”

Jordan starts to reply, but then Peter’s fingers probe his ass, cutting off any and all speech. His forehead falls against Peter’s as Peter’s fingers start to work him open. One finger finally manages to wiggle it’s way in to tap at his prostate. A shuddering moan leaves him as Peter continues his assault, and Jordan finds he agrees with Lydia. The actual worst. Peter takes his time too, going slow and steady when all Jordan wants is hard and fast. In the hopes that it might spur Peter on, Jordan moves his head up and sinks his teeth into the meat of Peter’s shoulder.

Peter jerks, swearing—more from surprise than pain, but the two fingers he currently has in Jordan split, scissoring him and his cock pulses against Jordan’s thigh. Lydia laughs at the both of them. “He’s learning,” she sounds pleased and fond. Lazy-warm happiness spools in his veins at the sentiment.

“I’d like to hear you say that when he bites _you_.” Peter grunts out, his fingers moving again. Jordan groans into Peter’s shoulder.

Lydia hums, the water around them sloshing slightly. “Oh please, like Jordan would ever bite _me_.” She sounds downright smug about it.

As Peter’s fingers leave Jordan, he lets go Peter’s shoulder and turns to see Lydia in much the same position Jordan had been in earlier. Because he can Jordan leans over slightly and sets his teeth into _her_ shoulder—albeit not as hard or deep as with Peter. “Hey!” Lydia sounds so offended that Jordan can’t help but join in with Peter’s laughter. Lydia pouts at the both of them, and Jordan ducks down again to kiss and nuzzle at the faint marks he’d left, as if to console her.

He gets pulled away by Peter, who lifts him up easily. “Lydia, be a dear and help out?”

“I don’t see why I should when you’re both being horrible men,” she huffs, but seconds later Peter groans and Jordan finds himself being lowered.

A hiss leaves Jordan as Peter starts sliding in, the condom making things feel smoother than usual. Needing to do _something_ with his hands, Jordan weaves one into Peter’s hair, clutching tightly, the other he uses to grab one of Lydia’s. His breath leaves him in shuddering gasps with each of Peter’s thrusts, and a guttural cry leaves him when Peter’s claws dig into his hips and Peter orgasms.

“I really do love you,” he pants into Peter’s neck, laying a brief kiss against the pulsing vein there.

Peter stills for a second, then relaxes. “I know."

Later, after they’ve all dried off and curled up into bed, Jordan decides it’s now or never. Otherwise he feels he might just forget. He extracts himself from the pile they’ve turned into—commiserating with Peter and Lydia’s groans—and pads over to the dresser. Nerves coil in his stomach as he pulls out the small jeweler’s box and carries it back to the bed. He sits, scooting across the blankets until his hip presses against Peter’s waist, but doesn’t lay back down. “Lydia?” He hopes she hasn’t fallen asleep again.

Her eyes flutter open and she blinks sleepily at him. “Yeah?” She repositions herself so she’s more on top of Peter, whose eyes are staring at the both of them intently.

“This is for you.” He holds out the box.

It’s probably a bit of a cliche, but it also feels right. Peter now has his tattoos, and he and Lydia have their scars. Shouldn’t he and Lydia have their symbols of affection too, even if jewelry isn’t as permanent as scars or tattoos? “Seph helped me make it.” He doesn’t know why he’s attempting to explain it, except that her accepting this feels permanent, for her. It’s already permanent in his mind. “I kind of got the idea from when you graduated and she just helped me work out what I wanted.” Seph was a blessing really.

Lydia finally opens the box to reveal a ring. Instead of metal it’s made out of twigs, ones just as alive as they’d been when he’d picked them from the oak trees outside.

“Oh Jordan,” Lydia sounds breathless as she takes the ring out and slips it onto her left ring finger. He’s never considered himself a possessive man, not in the same way Peter is, but he feels a bloom of happiness to see her wearing it. She leans over Peter and kisses him, slow and lazy. When they break apart she’s smiling. “I’ve got something for you too.” Peter snorts but the two of them just shove him from both sides. Lydia pulls away and repeats his walk to the dresser, adding a little extra sway in her step, as if she can tell he and Peter are watching her. When she returns she’s also carrying a small jeweler’s box. “So it seems like we had the same idea really.”

Affectionate laughter comes from all three of them as Jordan takes the box and opens it. Unlike his, her’s is metal and instead of being shaped like branches it’s a golden crown, with tiny emeralds embedded in it to look like leaves. He doesn’t hesitate before slipping it on, tines pointed inwards so it’s always upright to everyone else. “I love it,” he tells her, and he does. Now he’s the one leaning over Peter to kiss her.

Before the both of them can really get into it they’re both yanked back to Peter’s sides. “While I would very much like to watch you two, I’m tired, and you’ll just keep me up if I let you go on.”

More laughter fills the room. “Poor Peter,” Lydia coos. “We’re ruining his crotchety old man routine.” Still she settles against Peter’s side, her left hand splayed across his chest. Jordan does the same, though his position means he can’t have his left hand on Peter too. His right hand will just have to do, fingers tangling with Lydia’s as he closes his eyes.

Even if all of them haven’t admitted it yet, Erwann knows this is love, wholly and truly.

—

Both curious and confused as to what Lydia’s planning, Jordan drives towards the cemetery, wincing at every pothole he goes over, the lid of his trunk bouncing up against the bungee cord holding it shut and scraping against the trunks of the two saplings Lydia sent him to get. “ _Only a few years old at most Jordan, if they’re too old the spell won’t work.”_

As he pulls up to Beacon Hills cemetery he hopes answers will be forthcoming. Pulling out the two saplings he gives them each a burst of magic, hoping to compensate for the rawness from the cord.

“Here.” Peter doesn’t actually _surprise_ Jordan, but he wasn’t exactly expecting the other man. He gladly lets Peter take one of the saplings, the elder one, while Jordan hoists the black poplar up a bit higher for a better grip.

“Do you have any idea what Lydia’s doing?” He asks Peter as they start making their way further in.

Peter snorts. “Nope.”

 _Wonderful_ , now he feels like this can only end badly.

Eventually they reach Lydia, who’s tucked herself away in a little used corner. She’s dug a hole, the dirt and shovel still next to it.. “Alright,” Jordan says as he and Peter set down the trees, “Young black poplar and elder, just like you asked. Now an explanation would be nice.”

Lydia somehow manages a smile. “Hello to you too Jordan. I thought it was obvious.” She walks over to them and inspects the trees, though for what he has no clue. “I want to try and see if I can replicate your rejuvenation technique.”

He steps back, staggered. “What?! Seriously?” He’s not doubting the idea that she could do it, but that she somehow figured it out at all amazes the hell out of him. In fact he hadn’t thought it could be replicated at all, except possibly by his own children.

“Yes.” Inspection seemingly done, Lydia lifts up the elder enough to carry it to the hole. “Peter do you mind being the guinea pig?”

Peter steps over to her. “Not at all sweetheart.” There’s a strange relieved note in Peter’s voice. “What do I need to do?”

“Jordan, I’m going to want your help too,” she adds, startling him out of his strange haze. “You and Peter plant the tree. Make sure it’ll actually survive and grow here.”

Jordan can do that. He joins Peter and together they unwrap the burlap. As they move the tree Jordan runs his fingers through the roots, luring them out of the slight shock they’d been in and encouraging growth. Peter grabs the shovel while Jordan sets the tree into the hole. He keeps his hands on it as Peter starts shoveling in dirt, making sure the roots aren’t too tightly packed or that there isn’t any air. When they finish they look to Lydia again.

“Now comes the not so fun part,” she pulls out a knife. “I’m going to need your blood Peter, or some of it.” A ghost of a smile crosses her lips at her poor joke.

Peter throws his arms wide, tossing aside the shovel at the same time. “Where do you want it from?”

Lydia chews her lip, clearly having to think about it. Jordan isn’t going to try and rush her. Magic like this needed to be done at it’s own pace. “The arm should be fine,” she finally answers, moving to approach them.

Peter offers her his left arm. Grabbing hold of it with her free hand Lydia walks them both over to the tree. Nerves crackle through Jordan, not sure he’s really liking where this might be going. Although he does hope it works. He thinks he’d be hard pressed to find anything that could really hurt Lydia, but Peter? For all that he’d consumed fae food, and bound himself to them, he’s still ‘human’ from the fae perspective, and too easily killed.

The copper smell of blood grows strong enough that even Jordan can smell it a few feet away. Because of Peter’s healing Lydia keeps having to make the same cut over and over again, and Jordan finds that despite all he’s seen in over a thousand years of living it makes him sick to his stomach to see. Lydia soon stops, falling to her knees and laying her hands on the blood soaked earth. Peter staggers over to Jordan who moves to support him. “Are you alright?”

“Nothing a rare steak and a good night’s rest won’t cure,” Peter replies with a wan smile.

Jordan’s only half comforted. Both of them turn their attention to Lydia, who’s muttering to herself. If Peter can catch the words he doesn’t say anything. The air around them starts to get colder—whether from Lydia’s winter powers or her banshee ones is hard to tell—until Jordan can see his own breath. Granted, it’s kind of nice considering the heat wave they’re going through. An audible pop fills the area, and Lydia falls back. Jordan finds himself torn between supporting Peter and helping Lydia, but Lydia makes the decision for him, standing on her own.

During that brief moment the elder sapling began to glow, the whole of it appearing to go through a few years rapid growth. Then the glow vanishes, and next to him Peter gasps as the tree withers away into dust.

Lydia turns them them, her expression confused and scared. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: confrontations, and reveals.


	38. Chapter 38

Lydia sits at the island in the kitchen, marveling at how quiet it is with no one else in the house. Then again she insisted it be this way. Jordan and Vee had gone easily enough, but Seph had to be enticed with the promise of going to a movie—something she'd only ever heard of before apparently—and in actuality Aldans hadn't left at all, just fallen into dormancy so it couldn't overhear the conversation she and Peter were about to have.

For now this just needed to be about them. Maybe later they'd talk to Jordan about it. First and foremost she wanted to just _talk_ to Peter with, hopefully, no expectations.

Reaching out she pours herself a cup of Assam from the giant teapot sitting on the granite countertop. Peter had sent her a text a few minutes ago letting her know he'd be home soon, and she finds herself anxious. She knows full well there are some things that Peter just doesn't like talking about, and this conversation might as well jump all over those forbidden areas. Still it feels like it needs to happen.

The sound of the door opening makes her heart race. “Hello?” Peter calls out, probably confused by the lack of sounds that usually fill the house.

“Back here Peter,” she calls out, taking a sip from her tea.

When Peter reaches the kitchen there's a wary expression on his face—expecting something bad to happen—and to think just a year ago she would have thought the one thing Peter would always gladly do was talk. She tries to make her smile as comforting as possible. “Hi,” she gestures to the stool next to hers.

Peter takes it, eyeing her all the while, and turning over the other cup pours himself some tea, the tattoos on his arms catching her eyes like always. She really does love them. She loves him even. It's not a startling revelation, but maybe that should be what she builds up to here. Not whatever fears he might have about the baby, or his own insecurities. That she loves him. Peter takes a sip from his tea and she can see some of the tension leaching from him. “Hello?”

It's easy to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “So how's your day been going?” She wonders if he realizes how similar this is to the first time they had sex. Granted she hasn't given him a massage, not that she intends to either.

“Alright I guess, not that I've really done much. What about you?” Despite his smile when she taps the door that connects their minds she can feel nerves coming off it.

She hides a smile behind the rim of her mug. “I decided I needed to say some things to you, napped a lot”—it seems like now that she's aware she's pregnant she's tired all the time—“shooed everyone out of the house.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I noticed.” He sets his mug back on the counter, it makes a faint scraping sound as he turns it around and around with his fingers. “What did you want to talk about?” He sounds resigned, which she finds she _hates._  Maybe this conversation needed to happen sooner, she'd like it if _none_ of them were resigned to talking about their relationship.

Reaching out she grabs his hand. “I'm worried Peter.” Jordan is too, but saying 'we' makes it sound too much like an intervention, which is not what she wants this to be. “I _think_ you’re happy that I'm pregnant, but you also seem to avoid spending time alone with me...again. Are you not happy about the baby? Is it something Jordan or I did?” She squeezes his hand. “We can't try to make it better unless you tell us.”

Peter pulls his hand out of her grip, picks up his mug again and takes a long drink of it, seemingly intent on consuming all of it in one go, scalding hot or no. The mug clicks loudly against the counter when he sets it down, and when he gets up Lydia doesn't protest, content to wait him out. Her eyes follow him as he goes into the pantry, pokes around, and exits empty handed. Almost on autopilot it seems he opens and closes cabinet doors. “Our mother got pregnant with me soon after Talia went away to her first year of college. Thanksgiving that year when they told her my aunt said Talia got real quiet, that her scent grew unhappy. The very next day she left home and went back to her dorm room.

“For the next seven years I knew I had a sister, but never met her.” Lydia so desperately wants to ask questions, but she keeps her lips sealed, if she starts asking questions she has no idea if he'll close up or not. “Finally mom got tired of her shit and demanded she come home. Talia needed to start learning how to become an Alpha, not avoiding the family by moving on to studying for a doctorate.” He gives her a rueful smile. “We didn't get along, but I, at least, thought she tolerated me. Until mom stepped down and Talia started looking for a husband. Alexander was a good man, and he and I  got along quite well, which seemed to perturb my sister to no end. When I'd just started middle school Talia gave birth to Laura.” Peter takes down a plate from a cabinet for no reason Lydia can discern. She thinks he might just be moving to distract himself from what he's telling her.

“There's a tradition in pack-families that the baby gets handed around to all the family members, to help them learn their scents and to promote bonding. When it came time for that to happen with Laura, Talia gladly handed her over to all of the family, except me. And well, how could any of us protest the choice of our Alpha?” Lydia sets her mug down, gets up, and wraps her arms around his chest, pressing her face into his back in silent comfort. She soon feels one of his own hands come up to rest atop her own. “Then she did the same thing with Derek and Cora when they were born.

“To say it hurt is an understatement. Family is all we really are, and for my sister to deny something like that to me?” He inhales sharply and his hand grips hers tighter. “On top of that her deciding to take all my memories of Sarah and her pregnancy? I obviously don’t have all that much in the way of experience with infants, or pregnancy.” She knows he got his memories of Malia’s mother back, but he doesn’t consider them part of himself if his words are true.

She can’t say she relates at all. Her life experiences are vastly different, but relating and empathizing are two different things. She’s been in Peter’s mind after all. Extracting her hands, she walks around Peter until she’s facing his front, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “Peter.” He blinks, surprise flickering across his features. She continues before he can think to speak. “What Talia did to you is shitty, I’m not going to argue that, but back then you were alone.” It’s a bit of a stretch but she reaches her hand out to cup his cheek. “Now you’ve got Jordan and me to help you. We’re not going to leave you behind or exclude you.”

Not if she has anything to say about it anyways.

“We…” She shakes her head. “ _I_ love you, even though you’re an asshole who likes to take up too much of the bed and doesn’t let anyone in when you can push them away.” Taking another step towards him she cranes her head up so she can keep his gaze. “That’s not going to change. I mean I’ve pretty much forgiven you for taking my power and bonding our minds without my permission. I think I can forgive your baby anxiety.” It’s not exactly the light note she was hoping on ending on. That doesn’t change the fact that she wholeheartedly believes every word.

In an instant Peter bursts into motion, a squeak escaping her when he scoops her up and sets her onto the kitchen counter, settling himself in between her legs and burying his face right behind her ear. The sound of him inhaling deeply almost becoming her sole focus. “I don’t deserve you,” his voice sounds thick and clogged. She thinks he might be crying.

Wrapping her arms around his back she rubs her hands up and down and begins humming an old lullaby she barely remembers from her own childhood. “I don’t care.”

—

Danny sits at one of the booths at Jungle, Ethan shirtless and plastered to his side, Mason in the seat next to him, still wide-eyed with amazement. Danny remembers that feeling from the first time _he_ came to Jungle.

He sees Lydia making her way back to them through the crowd, hands clutching shot glasses and her body swaying to the pounding music. Just like everyone else in the building she’s scantily clad. The owners claimed that the building had AC, but Danny has yet to ever feel a cool breeze in all his times coming. “Alright!” She crows as she sets the glasses onto the table, setting one in front of him and Mason, and two in front of Ethan.

Who frowns. “Why do I get two?” Danny can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Because.” Lydia plops into the seat next to Mason, her arm coming out to land on his shoulder. “You are my designated drinker for the night. Anyways, it’s not like it’ll affect you.” Danny’s learned not to question Lydia’s decisions when it comes to drinking. He’s also grateful that before they came here they’d all—except for Lydia—basically eaten their weight in diner food.

“Can I do that too?” Mason asks, staring at his shot glass uncertainly.

“You’ve gotten drunk before,” Lydia points out.

Mason gives her a look. “Yeah, with _beer_. Never made the jump to liquor.”

Deciding it’s not worth talking about more than that Danny takes Mason’s shot and downs it, then his own. The tequila burns down his throat in a way that Danny knows meant Lydia splurged for the good stuff. “Okay, so why are you not drinking?” She’s usually the first one to drink and, besides himself, the last one still standing by the end of the night.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, her expression suggesting she might panic at the first sign of, well _anything_. She’s certainly getting a whole host of things from _him_...once he finishes collecting his jaw from the floor.

“Oh God,” Ethan groans, his head hitting the table. “Peter’s going to be even worse isn’t he?”

Mason’s eyes dart, clearly confused. “I’m sorry, what?”

Lydia laughs, which Danny finds relieving, he’d rather not have to try and talk her down from whatever emotional edge she’d started working herself to. He loves Lydia, but she can be a handful sometimes—he snorts in laughter at the thought of maybe that’s why she couldn’t settle for less than two men. “Ethan’s freaking out because Peter’s an Alpha werewolf with a pregnant mate, ‘overprotective’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Reaching over she jabs Ethan in the shoulder. “You have no right to complain considering you don’t live at the house.”

Which hardly dissuades Ethan from his glowering, picking up both shot glasses and downing both at once. “It wouldn’t be so bad if there were other wolves in the pack,” he complains.

“How does that work? I’d have thought Lydia would be in the pack too if she’s his mate? What does that make…” Mason drifts off, looking embarrassed for having forgotten both Jordan’s name and looking like he was babbling.

“Jordan?” Lydia fills in. “He’s Peter’s mate too. But no, from a political-hierarchical standpoint I can’t be part of a pack because I’m a princess and can’t be beholden to anyone like that. Jordan can’t because he and Peter are _both_ my consorts and I don’t want to put the idea into anyone’s head that I favor one over the other,” she says, finally inhaling. Danny feels certain that his feeling of being taken aback by that flood of information is shared by the other two. Then again this is Lydia, who thought _everything_ out when possible. “Speaking of packs,” Lydia inclines her head towards the dance floor, apparently more than willing to distract everyone from the conversation. Danny scans over it, but doesn’t spot whomever she’s trying to point out. Mason however…

He groans and attempts to hide behind Lydia, which is hilarious considering she’s a petite five three and Mason’s, well, _not_. Danny arches an eyebrow, hoping Lydia’s quick with explanations. “Mason’s kind of crush is out on the dance floor, having a grand old time.” She pokes Mason lightly. “Do you want me to go out and get him? Danny can attest to my fantastic wingwoman skills.”

All Mason does is groan again. Danny’s not sure if he wants to commiserate or laugh. Lydia takes it in stride. “You all need more booze anyways. I’m sure Peter wouldn’t mind me starting the lines of communication with Satomi’s pack.”

That’s right, there’s another pack out in the Preserve. He watches Lydia leave, though not as intently as Ethan. Poking his boyfriend—and it’s still kind of amazing that Ethan came back to be with him—he asks. “Dude, you can chill a little, Lydia can take care of herself.”

Even though he can’t hear it Danny knows he exhales loudly from the way his shoulders slump. “I know, but she’s my Alpha’s mate and instincts are a pain in the ass.” Knowing it had probably taken Ethan a lot to admit that Danny ducks in and pecks him on the cheek, liking the way Ethan flushes at the easy affection.

“What’s she doing?” Mason seems to have basically recovered, except he’s very much not looking at the dance floor.

“Getting shots,” Ethan replies, since he’s the only one that can really see Lydia. He growls, and alright if Danny hadn’t be interested before he is now.

“What?” This time he doesn’t touch Ethan, not wanting to distract him if he needed to leave and at least threatening someone.

He sees Ethan’s eyes flash blue. “Some asshole at the bar’s trying to flirt with her.”

 _Ooof_ , not a good idea for them, whomever they are. Ethan’s growl cuts out. “Good. She lost him.”

Now Danny can kind of see Lydia himself again, or flashes of her as she waves in and out of the crowd. He watches as she stops in front of a guy who towers over her, if they converse and Ethan overhears it he doesn’t tell them what they talk about, but a minute or two later Lydia’s headed back their way, giant in tow. “Everyone,” Lydia says as she sets down shots. “This is Brett. Brett this is Ethan, Peter’s second.” Which probably isn’t as big a deal when you’re only one of two in the pack. “Danny, Ethan’s boyfriend, and all around awesome firebender.” She was never going to let him live that down was she? “And Mason, human.”

“Wow, you make me sound so boring.” Mason gripes as Lydia climbs over him to wedge herself between Danny and Mason. Next to Danny Ethan relaxes a little.

“Humans are important Mason,” Lydia gestures to her previous seat. “Have a seat Brett.”

He flops down. “Thanks, and she’s right you know. Satomi’s always going on about having humans to keep us from going feral.”

It’s hard to tell if Mason blushes, but Lydia looks all too pleased with herself.

The conversation for the next half an hour or so is just Ethan, Lydia, and Brett going back and forth on where/when Peter and Satomi would meet. Not that Danny minded, it just gave him time to relax, enjoy his tequila, and think. Mason seemed to appreciate it too, given that Lydia’d implied that half the reason she would approach Brett was to get the two of them together. After they come to an agreement the conversation opens up to general stuff, movies, TV shows, Danny and Brett getting into a _very_ serious lacrosse discussion.

It's interesting to watch Mason as he drifts in and out of the conversation. Until he downs one of the still untouched shots and turns to Brett. “Do you want to dance?”

Brett looks taken aback, but then nods, standing up and holding out his hand for Mason to take.

When they leave Lydia smiles. “They’re totally adorable together.” Seconds later she gives an annoyed groan and thunks her head against his shoulder.

“What?” He asks, half worried, on his other side Ethan goes tense.

“Baby hormones!” She whines. “Stupid hormones.” Oh.

She keeps her head on his shoulder until a few minutes later when she jumps. “Shit.”

“What?” This time at least it’s Ethan who says it, making Danny feel like less of a broken record.

“My phone went off,” she answers, fishing said phone out of her skirt somehow. She stares at the screen and gives a little sigh. “Looks like the men want me back home.” She flutters her eyelashes at Ethan. “Walk me to my car?”

Ethan rolls his eyes. “Fine.” Then surprises Danny by leaning in and kissing his cheek.

The two of them leave, and Danny is more than alright with being alone for a few minutes. Lets him think about tonight, which hasn’t gone at all like he’d thought it would, but he thinks he’s alright with that.

—

Lydia, Peter, and Jordan have all retreated to the short dock that now jutted out into the lake—she'd had the boat house torn down—to try and escape the early August heat. So far it's working and Lydia has no other plans than to stay here until late afternoon, or until hunger drives her inside.

She lays there in her purple string bikini, with Peter's head using her stomach as a pillow, and Jordan sitting on her other side. Being oh so considerate and blocking some of her sun—briefly she entertains the thought of asking him if he photosynthesizes. The both of them are wearing about as much as her, though it'd surprised to her find out Peter _owned_ swim trunks.

As she runs her hand through Peter's hair he beings to once again nuzzle her nonexistent 'bump'. Peter seems better since their talk earlier in the week, he’s less gunshy about being affectionate with her, more like he was before they found out she was pregnant two weeks ago, shit, only two weeks? She thinks he and Jordan must have talked too, because Jordan’s become more accommodating, stepping in when it gets to be too much for Peter. Lydia’s not sure if she should find that comforting or frightening.

Speaking of, she looks up to see Jordan staring out across the lake at the specks that are people using the public park to do what they are. Backlit by the sun he looks like some ancient god come to earth, just the sight of him is enough to make her mouth water and heat pool in her belly. Still there's something...different about him. “Your hair's lighter,” she says before she's fully processed the thought. True lit by the sun as he is his hair is going to be lighter than usual. The _color_ of the illuminated hair is different, more golden than washed out brown.

He blinks as looks down at her. “Hmmm?” Before she can say her statement again he speaks. “Oh, my hair?” He shrugs. “It does that in the winter. Once we get into October it'll pretty much be blond. It happens with Yvonne too, drives her mad.” She's long since stopped worrying about him speaking about his technically dead sister as if she's still up and walking around.

' _Soon, so soon._ '

Peter stops his nuzzling and tilts his head back, opening his eyes to inspect Jordan. “Must be hell on your driver's license.”

Jordan huffs, then reaches out to lightly shove Peter. “This this wonderful invention called 'hair dye' to handwave it away.” Leaning over Lydia he lays an open mouthed kiss to the spot he'd pushed. The easy affection between them fills her with warmth. To think, nearly six months ago Peter'd been against this.

Languidly she reaches over and gives Peter her own light shove. “Up. I want to turn over.” She'd slathered herself in sunscreen before coming out—Peter's super healing meant he didn't need it and Jordan was a _tree—_ but it's better to be safe than sorry. Peter grumbles, but obligingly lifts his head. She rolls over and his head returns, landing on the small of her back. Taking shameless advantage of her current position she feels Peter's head shift down before teeth gently set themselves into her ass through her bottoms.

She jumps as much as she can considering, and yelps. “Jordan! Smack him for me.”

His shoulders shaking with laughter he does so. His ring, as well as the scar Peter gave him. catching the light as it passes her field of vision. She can't exactly see how Peter responds since she's staring past Jordan over the lake herself, but she sees what's probably Jordan trying to tug his hand free. Then a few seconds later the feel of Peter's head leaves her, and the two of them make a large splash as they tumble into the lake.

She holds in her laughter until they break the surface, then she lets it ring out. The two of them stare at her for a second before sharing a look at each other laden with a whole silent conversation, which sets off a spark of low-level fear in her. In an inhuman flash Peter's out of the water, and pinning her to the dock with his weight. The water dripping off him onto her is almost _too_ chilly and she squirms at each new drop. “You wouldn't be laughing at us would you sweetheart?” His voice is a dangerously low rumble in her ear, one that makes her squirm for a different reason.

Fingers on her hip make her jump, nesting Peter's rigid cock right between her cheeks.  Jordan's fingers, they have to be Jordan’s considering Peter’s hands are in her field of vision, begin to loosen the ties of her bottom. One of Peter's own clawed hands moves and begins pulling her hair away from her neck. “Because if you're laughing at us I might have to take _drastic_ measures.”

She feels him move, settling more of his weight on her and pinning Jordan’s hand at the small of her back, and seconds later his teeth set themselves gently into the meat of her neck. She finds herself arching up, seeking more sensations, a slight sigh falling from her lips.

“Hey!” Vee’s shout has them all starting, and Lydia grimaces as Peter’s teeth bite a little harder than intended. Vee stands at the end of the dock, her arms crossed and looking bored. Lydia feels her cheeks start to heat, because oh gods, Vee just caught them doing foreplay. She kind of wants to die. At least they’re still mostly clothed.

“What?” Jordan calls back. Lydia’s just glad he can apparently still talk.

“Queen Morana’s calling, she wants to talk to Lydia.”

Like that any thoughts of sex leave Lydia. “I’ll be there in a minute,” Lydia finally replies. Hoping it’d be enough for Vee to leave them. The woman nods and turning leaves, leaving Lydia to muster up the scraps of her dignity.

Peter climbs off her, and Jordan’s hands do up the ties he’d undone just minutes before. “You know,” Peter says conversationally as she stands and the three of them begin making their way back to the house. “I’d thought with her being hundreds of miles away I wouldn’t have to deal with in-laws interrupting sex.”

It startles a laugh out of Lydia, but does manage to make her feel better. Once they’re inside Lydia decides it’d be better to just speak with her mother than take the extra few minutes to dress. Leaving Jordan and Peter she heads up to the second floor towards what Seph had started to call the ‘receiving room’ even though it's just the guest bedroom that happens to have Jordan’s old mirror in it.

Vee’s there, reminding Lydia that it’s her magic maintaining the connection; for the time being. “Mother?”

“Here dearest,” Morana’s smooth voice seems to fill the room.

There’s a chair in front of the mirror, which Lydia takes, as well as a small side table. From which Lydia picks up a needle and jabbing it into the mound of her thumb—hissing slightly at the pain. Once enough blood has collected in her palm she smears it over the mirror, watching as it disappears. “Thank you Vee, that will be all.”

“Of course Lydia,” Vee bows and leaves the room. As Vee exits Morana’s image appears on the mirror, looking as she did the last time Lydia saw her.

“Good afternoon mother, to what do I owe the unexpected call?” Lydia asks because it’s polite more than any real desire to know the answer.

Something in her warms to see the flash of a smile on her mother’s face. “It has been nearly two months since we last spoke dearest, I was beginning to worry about you.” Lydia flushes, annoyed with herself that she’d kind of pushed her mother to the side, even unintentionally. "I’m also calling on you because in my conversation with her the other day Danu expressed some concern over the fact that you’re keeping something important from me.”

All Lydia can really do is gape at her mother while anger and betrayal course through her. Even if Danu was her teacher Lydia feels she had no _right_ to do this to her—even if she hadn’t go so far as to say _what_ Lydia was keeping from Morana. “Did she say as to _why_ she told you this?” Despite her best efforts it still comes out half angry.

Morana notices, but has the tact not to mention it, though Lydia’s certain her _mother_ has every right to. “She said that it was not right for the court not to know of your achievement.” Which hardly takes any of the wind out of Lydia’s sails. In her mind her pregnancy is a personal thing, for her to tell people about at her choosing—or when she can’t stand to hold it in anymore and blurts it out to whomever might be listening.

None of that is her mother’s fault, and Lydia makes a note to talk to Danu about personal boundaries and privacy—she had thought being more formal with each other would include some of the latter. So Lydia gives a small sigh and says: “I’m pregnant.”

Now it’s her mother who seems stunned into silence, and Lydia finds she wants to know how many times _that’s_ happened to Morana. A smile, a real one, blooms across Morana’s face, and she starts... _crying_? “Oh Lydia, my dear Diantha.” Lydia’s certain that if they were physically together they’d be embracing.

Her mother stands, and Lydia watches as she begins to pace her room. Morana might not be muttering to herself, but Lydia knows what deep thoughts and creeping anxiety looks like. “Mother?” She asks, hoping she can keep her mother from doing, well...Lydia’s not all that sure actually. Seeing her mother worry, isn’t all that comforting to Lydia. Not that she thought telling people would go over smoothly in particular.

“I believe I will be fine dearest.” Her mother resumes her seat. Her eyes are dry again, but they do glitter with unshed tears. “Hjörtur would be proud of you I think.”

Now Lydia finds herself blinking back tears of her own, _damn hormones_. “I, don’t know what to say mother.”

Morana leans closer to the mirror, her eyes going fever bright. “Say you’ll keep yourself safe Lydia, that you won’t do anything to endanger yourself or the child. Say you’ll come back to the mound where I know nothing would dare harm you.”

Lydia finds she’d love to agree with her mother, say she _would_ come back to the mound. It would be so easy to just leave behind everyone here and let them deal with their own problems. She _can’t_. “I will do my best to stay safe mother, Peter and Erwann will see to that, as will Seph, Vee, and Aldans.” She knows _that_.

—

Despite the fact that he should be nervous about this, Scott feels nothing but calm. Kira and Stiles sit on either side of him, with Liam on Kira’s other side. His _pack_ , the people he trusts most in the world; keeping him safe, watching his back.

The four of them waiting for Malia to arrive so they can pass judgment.

When she does come she looks taken aback by the way they all seem arrayed against her, and she becomes wary, but not afraid. _She_ should _be afraid, she breaks pack bonds as easily as branches. Does she not know we cannot let it stand?_ “What’s going on?” Her eyes flare guilty-blue. “Why do you all smell funny?”

The second question confuses Scott, so he ignores it. “We need to talk Malia,” he says instead.

She takes a seat across from them. “Alright fine, talk.” She sounds so petulant, more like a ten year old than the adult she basically is.

“We know you’ve been lying to us,” Stiles says.

“Hiding things,” Kira chimes in.

“Not telling us everything,” Scott finishes. In the back of his mind he can feel Liam, who’s both uncomfortable and anxious. Easily Scott reaches out and calms him, the boy doesn’t need to worry, Scott knows exactly what he’s doing.

Malia’s eyes narrow. “So? How is that a problem? Pretty sure you don’t want to know every moment of my life.”

“Yeah,” Stiles answers. “But when the secrets you keep affect the pack, _then_ it becomes a problem.”

“We know you’ve been talking to Lydia,” Scott tells her, almost kindly. He understands why, after all Lydia was her friend. Malia needs to know it can’t go on. Lydia isn’t a friend, isn’t _pack_. She threw her lot in with Peter, and she’ll suffer with him. A minuscule part of Scott frowns.

Malia frowns too, “Again, so? It doesn’t effect us keeping each other safe, so why should I tell you? I’m allowed to have a private life. I don’t have to give you the play-by-play of my time.”

“Lydia isn’t exactly a normal person Malia, she’s potentially consorting, willingly even, with the enemy.” Scott wouldn’t have put it in so many words as that, but Stiles is right.

Standing Kira goes over to Malia and lays a hand on her shoulder. “I know it’s hard Malia, but until we stop Peter we can’t see Lydia, or Parrish.”

“Why?” Malia’s scent starts turning angry. “Sure he killed Kate, but she clearly needed killing. What’s so bad about Peter?”

 _Useless, no good, she cannot be accepted. Do away with her to become like the rest_. “I’m sorry Malia, but if you really feel that way then maybe you shouldn’t be with us either. We don’t want you spilling our secrets to Peter.”

She shrugs off Kira and throws her hands up in the air. “ _What_ secrets? That you hate Peter, because I think you’ve made that pretty clear.” Spinning around on her heel she marches out of the room.

Barely a second later Liam chases after her and Scott focuses on his hearing, he needs to keep his Beta safe after all. “Malia? Where are you going?”

She makes an annoyed sound. “To Derek’s, since clearly he’s the only person not caught up in this stupid fight that cares about me.” That’s certainly good to know if they need to track her down. Liam doesn’t say anything in response, but he must do something physical because Malia continues. “Don’t worry Liam, I’ll be fine. You look after everyone else for me, alright? I can look after Mason for you.”

There’s a sound that might be ruffling hair, then Liam replies. “Alright.” A few seconds later Liam returns and seconds after that Scott hears the door shut.

Part of him wants to start making plans for dealing with Peter right away, but he holds back, remembering that Malia’s hearing is just as good as his own. When he’s confident that they won’t be overheard he turns to the rest of his pack, the people who will gladly walk through hell for him. “We need to go after Peter soon, before he has any more time to settle himself.”

Already they’ve waited too long, but no more. Soon Peter would be dealt with once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: The Beginning of the End.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks, the start of the climax! *rubs hands together* This chapter's relatively short, but I hope it's tense for you.
> 
> And another round of thanks to Elle the wonderful Beta.

 Something fumbling and trying to insinuate itself into her mind catapults Lydia into wakefulness. Even that's not enough to dissuade whatever is attacking her. Without conscious thought she lashes out with her own powers. It's enough that the presence retreats for a few seconds, only to come back, redoubling its efforts. Once again her magic flares and somehow it throws itself outward, searching, seeking, _there_. Lydia has no idea how she does it but she manages to create a bond between herself and a nearby corpse, redirecting the presence from herself to it.

Even though she's safe— _for how long?_ —she feels exhausted, her breath coming in heavy pants and a headache starting in her mind. Next to her she feels Jordan shift. “Lydia, what?” He sounds groggy and half asleep, and she's just relieved whatever it was seemed to be only after her.

That's what she thinks until Peter snarls on her other side.

Opening her eyes, she turns to see Peter rising up in his Beta form, though instead of fiery red eyes his are now a milky white. Panic makes her heart stutter. “Hold him!” She shouts at Jordan, while her mind scrambles to try and figure out how she protected herself. Jordan leaps over her and pins Peter, though she can tell it's taking a lot of effort; they've never bothered seeing which of the two of them was stronger outside the Mound and now Lydia decides that was foolish of them.

Shakily she rises up on her knees and goes over to them, placing uncertain hands on Peter's cheeks. With a small twist of will she falls into her mind and tears open the connection between them, far too easily in fact. With great wariness she skims the top of his mind. _Nothing_. Peter just isn't _there_. Fighting off terror she takes a deep breath and removes one of her hands. “Erwann, I need you to anchor me.” She doesn't think she'll be able to pull herself out of whatever has taken over Peter otherwise. “I need to get deeper into Peter's mind and try and fight this off.” Though she has serious doubts as to how successful she'll be, the connection between her and Peter is present, but she's no psychotheurger to confidently try to correct a mind.

Nodding, Jordan shifts his grip on Peter so he can remove one of his own hands, lacing it with hers and giving a squeeze. “I know you can do it.” His words inspire enough courage in her that she just dives right into Peter’s mind without a second thought.

Like the surface of him, all of his mind is hideously empty, turning him into a puppet for whatever external force is controlling him. She knows there _has_ to be at least a part of Peter still here, something she can use to fight it off. If there is it's so well hidden she can't find it, and even though she has no physical body here she still finds herself blinking back tears when she realizes what she's going to have to do to bring it out. _Forgive me Peter_. Reaching back into her own mind she goes to a box she never thought she would open, and without hesitation—she can't hesitate, not now—she throws off the lid and reaches inside.

 _Fire eating away at him as he struggles to save someone_ anyone _even himself, while all around him the roar of the flames can't even come close to covering up the screams of his family being burned alive_.

In her mind and in Peter's fire consumes everything.

Faintly she can hear voices and feel tears streaming down her face, but those are inconsequential to fighting through the Hale fire to find Peter. She feels sparks of impotent rage but they aren't enough to pull Peter back. Fighting back waves of sadness she reaches deeper into the box.

_Pain consuming everything leaving no room for any other thought or feeling. Giving no escape, no reprieve._

_He tries to reach for an Alpha, an anchor, but one is dead and the other forsakes him._

_Trapped in his mind he howls as pain chips away at everything_.

Rage roars into life in Peter's mind and Lydia latches on like there's no tomorrow, feeding it everything she can as it tears through whatever magic gripped Peter. As he tears it away she can feel the presence starting to return to try and reinforce itself.  _Not on my watch_. Gritting non-existent teeth Lydia wraps her own magic around Peter's rage and throws out again, managing to latch onto another nearby corpse, and like that the presence vanishes.

She manages to untangle herself from the rage, but now it starts to turn on her, considering her just as much an enemy as the presence. Not giving into the panic inside her she thrusts her bits of Peter back into their box in her own mind. The rage reaches for her, eager to tear and rend. Closing eyelids that aren't real Lydia reaches inside her once more, this time reaching for something else entirely.

This time she doesn't flood his mind with pain and loss, but with safety and family. _Think of your daughter!_ At a month and a half the baby isn't far enough along to have even the beginnings of a brain or even feel much in the way of sensations, but she—and Lydia _knows_ it's a she even though that's scientifically impossible—is _alive_ , and has enough of Peter in her that the rage hesitates. She grabs onto that hesitation and encourages it, mercilessly bombarding Peter's reappearing mind with images and memories of family and _love_.

 _Lydia..._ Peter sounds afraid, but all she feels is relief—enough that even her physical body slumps as the terror leeches out of her.

 _Oh gods,_ once more she wraps herself around him, though this time in joy and welcoming. _I love you_ , she thinks as she starts using Jordan to pull herself back solely into her own mind. After being in such a mental state physicality is a rush of sensation. With a shuddering gasp she pulls away from both Peter and Jordan trying to calm her racing heart.

“Lydia? Peter?” Jordan sounds nervous.

Lydia doesn’t answer right away, focusing on righting herself. “We’re...we’re okay,” she finally replies, looking to Peter for confirmation.

He gives a shaky nod, and scrubs a hand through his hair. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jordan replies, “but it’s not just us.” He gestures to the doorway, where Vee’s standing, looking less human than she ever has before. She's covered in more green-white scales than olive skin, and her eyes have turned true gold and are slitted like a snakes.

“Envy?” Lydia asks, half-afraid they’re going to have to deal with a dragon on top of everything else.

The dragon shivers. “Whatever happened to Hale’s happening to Seph as well.” Vee actually sounds _afraid_. As Lydia watches more scales start to appear on her skin.

“Take me to her,” Lydia stands, and as she tosses on a bathrobe _hopes_ she can throw whatever this is out of Seph too, but she's not going to count all her chickens just yet.

Vee nods and they all head downstairs to the ground floor and out, through the garden to Aldans, whose vines are wrapped completely around every part of Seph save her head. Like Peter her eyes are white. Her face is longer too, her skin more gray from the short hairs now covering it, and Lydia realizes that whatever is controlling her is trying to get her to shift back into her badger form, something that shouldn’t actually be possible. Seph writhes, trying to escape Aldans, but his hold on her is implacable.

Taking a deep shaky breath, Lydia has no idea how many more times she can do this before she gives out. She steps up to Seph. “Hold her head still,” she tells Aldans as she reaches out to touch her.

“Of course my lady.” Thin vines, though Lydia doesn't doubt their strength, begin threading themselves through Seph's hair, holding her much more firmly in place.

For a few brief seconds Lydia just lets herself look at Seph and indulges her feelings of disappointment. This woman swore herself to Lydia trusting that Lydia would protect her and Lydia _failed_. She only indulges for those seconds, before wrestling that disappointment into submission and feeding it to her inner drive. If she's going to feel disappointed then she's damn well going to use it! Unlike with Peter she can't exactly throw herself into Seph's mind. There is a bond she can exploit. “I am Lydia, Princess of the Winter Court, She Whom the Dead Speak and Obey. I call upon you Seph, Badger Born, to _attend!_ ”

Seph writhes, but it’s a different sort of writhing this time. Lydia lets herself feel a small measure of hope. “Seph,” she repeats. “Return!” For the briefest of moments her eyes are brown instead of white, but then they’re not. Lydia, finding herself undaunted, forges ahead. “Seph! Thrice I name you, and thrice I call you to come to me!”

Seph’s head falls back and she stares sightless up at the night sky as she cries out. When her head falls forward again her eyes are their normal brown. Lydia lets her magic strike. The second the presence is gone Lydia stumbles, grateful that Peter and Jordan catch her. Despite her moment of consciousness, Seph’s eyes flutter shut and she slumps into Aldans’ vines, out of it, but still, thankfully, herself.

Lydia sympathizes, though it’s not hard to guess that for Lydia at least the night’s not over. She shifts in the grip of Peter and Jordan as Jordan gives her over to Peter. “I’ll be back. I’m pretty sure all of this requires a change of clothes.”

Which reminds Lydia that she’s only in a bathrobe. “Can you grab some for me?”

“Yeah,” Jordan gives her a hint of a smile before turning around and walking back into the house.

Behind her Peter snorts softly. “I take it we’re going to be the cavalry, rushing in to save the day?” Lydia only nods, intent on picking some of the leftover fruit and vegetables still in their beds so that she’ll at least be doing this on a mostly full stomach.

“I’ll come too,” Vee speaks up, stepping closer to them. She looks more like herself, though she’s still covered in scales. “Better than staying here and doing nothing.” Not that Vee sounds bitter about that, just excited.

“If it is alright with you my lady,” Aldans vines gently set Seph down and the scarecrow itself pulls it’s ‘feet’ from the ground. “I will stay here and protect the grounds and Seph.” As it speaks it grows, becoming more quadrupedal than bipedal, and all around the property the grounds change. The most drastic is from the hawthorn and blackthorn hedges. They shiver and shake and Lydia can only watch in amazement as their thorns grow to the length of her forearm, a frightening deterrent.

Giving herself a shake Lydia finally nods. “I trust you to keep everyone out, but don’t kill unless you have to.”

“Yes, my lady.” With that he leaves, loping to the edge of the property where the brambles part like water to let him in, quickly reforming to become an impenetrable barrier once more.

Jordan returns from the house, in his suit of armor and armed with both a sword and a wicked looking hammer-spear. In his other hand he holds some clothes, which Lydia gratefully takes, dressing quickly. Feeling about as ready as she’ll ever be Lydia squares her shoulders. “Alright, let’s go.” Even though she says it she doesn’t move, not forward, instead moving to Vee, who practically vibrates next to them. “Envy.”

She comes to attention smartly with Lydia's use of her full name. “Yes, Your Highness?” Which goes to show how serious the situation is that Vee returns to formalities.

“While you're useful like this, I do believe we would be better served by your true form.” True there's a bit of risk letting Vee loose like that, but right now she thinks it might be worth it.

Envy smiles, and if she hadn't sworn to serve Lydia, Lydia would be a little scared by that smile. “With pleasure.”

If you asked her about it Lydia would say that she hadn't really thought how Vee's transformation would go. Point in fact she'd somehow fool herself into thinking Vee's human form was just a glamour like Aldans’. As the sounds of bones cracking and skin tearing fills the yard she realizes it's probably more like the hazy memory of watching Peter shift from wolf-beast to man at the video store. Except a dragon has a shit ton more mass than a wolf-man.

She...unfurls, body growing and shifting. A pale green, _male_ dragon nearly a hundred feet long fills the yard. His wings open with a snap, the wind nearly buffeting Lydia over. Vee rises up on his back legs and roars a gout of white fire, the sound rattling Lydia's teeth. They're quickly joined by everything else when Vee returns to the ground, the whole earth shaking.

His serpentine neck curves as he moves his head towards Lydia, his shoulder dropping in an inviting manner. Being unable to speak, Vee rumbles encouragingly as he holds out a clawed hand. Not giving herself a chance to back out Lydia climbs into the hand, gripping one of the claws tightly as Vee begins lifting her up. When it reaches his head Lydia scrambles on, settling herself close to one of his horns, which has surprisingly useful looking divots. Moments later Peter joins her, then Jordan.

“Do you want to transform,” she asks Peter. She has no idea what they might encounter on the way to hopefully to whatever this is, so Peter in his Alpha form might be more useful, even if he’s rarely shifted to it.

He thinks about it first before shaking his head. “No, not right now.”

“Where are we going first?” Jordan asks. Under them Vee rumbles in what Lydia thinks is agreement.

“Danu's.” It's the farthest away though she's betting dragon flight is at least as fast as a car, and they might need her teacher to figure out what the hell's going on and how to stop it.

Vee rumbles again and Lydia can just barely feel the coil of his body as he prepares then launches himself into the air, sending the three of them scrambling to clutch at horns. Ok, yeah, Peter might've had a point about not shifting yet. Underneath them the Preserve flies by. It's quite exhilarating once she's moved past the fear. Vee sticks closer to the ground than Lydia thought he would, although that might be rider consideration. Out of the three of them Jordan looks the most composed, while Peter looks a little green, but determined. Since they've got at least a minute or two before they reached Eureka, Lydia sinks into herself and reaches out, seeing what the dead can tell her.

' _It begins.'_

_'Soon what was taken will be reclaimed.'_

It's worrying that those are the only two voices she hears, and how faint they sound. She reaches out again, to see if they'll tell her some more, except now they're gone too. “Lydia,” Jor-no _Erwann's_ voice is gentle as he takes her hand, breaking her concentration. “We're here.”

She peers over the side to see Eureka's streets filled with people wandering about aimlessly, like zombies. She wonders if they'd look and act like Peter had if they went down there. She hopes Danu's alright. Then they're at the coast, and it's easy to see which house is Danu's, purely from the ring of zombie-like people surrounding it. Vee roars, rattling all three of them and the zombies...the word doesn't sit right, though she's doubting she'll find a better one, scatter. The sheer amount of wind from Vee's landing makes it impossible to hear for a few precious minutes, but the moment they've died down Lydia's leaning as far out as she dares. “Danu?” Right now any anger she might feel at Danu gets shoved off to the side. It’s unimportant in the face of this.

A commotion comes from the house and shortly after Danu emerges carrying a trident and a net. “Lydia, are you alright?” It's strange to hear Danu shout, but at the moment it's the only way they can talk.

“We're fine. How'd you escape?” Hopefully it's something Danu can teach one of them on the fly. If the same thing's happened in Beacon Hills they've got their work cut out for them.

Instead of answering Danu shouts. “Envy if you would be so kind?” Then a few seconds later Danu's up on his head with them. “Now,” Danu continues in her regular tone. “It was easy enough for me to shrug off the influence. The day a tree takes over a creature of saltwater is the day saltwater stops killing trees. Though it doesn't hurt that I'm thousands of years older than it.”

Her words catch Lydia completely off guard, and Peter too from the feel of it. “What? Tree?”

Danu nods, and gives a look like it should be the most obvious thing. “Yes, tree. Most likely your Nemeton, considering the strength and scope of this invasion. Although...there’s clearly something guiding it.” Lydia’s blood runs cold. Before she can really process all of what Danu’s just told them, the woman’s hand is being thrust at her. “Take my hand.” She doesn’t even stop to think why she shouldn’t. Danu’s hand is cool and dry, and soft, at least until her grip on Lydia’s goes painfully tight. “Breath in and hold your breath.” Danu commands, not giving Lydia much room to argue. Lydia does so though, instinctively closing her eyes and tossing out her senses. Or that’s what she tries to do. Before she gets very far though Danu’s own powers crash over hers.

Lydia had thought her own powers an ocean, but really, compared to Danu’s they’re a _puddle_.

Death becomes all Lydia knows, and not just humans either: cats and dogs and insects and trees. The web of death is spread out around them. In the center of it is the Nemeton, so close to death Lydia can almost taste it. Dark and rotting, greasy to her senses. In the center of _that_ is an even darker shade, dead, yet not dead. One Lydia feels she knows.

Then it’s gone, Danu pulling away from her, like she didn’t just shatter Lydia’s notions of what it meant to be a banshee. “That,” Danu tells her, “is what we’re up against.”

Part of Lydia wants to cry. There are five of them against this...thing, and it’s just not _fair_. Lydia does her best to smother that part of herself. Crying at this point is useless. “Do you have any idea of what we can do?” She throws it out there for anyone to answer, because there has to be _something_ , otherwise why talk about it?

Danu nods deftly. “Cleanse the tree. Nemeta are neutral objects in and of themselves. If you remove the taint then it should stop.”

Nodding, Lydia thinks. There had been something familiar about that stain in the center of the Nemeton, but she can’t put her thumb on _what_. “We need to find Scott and Stiles, they’re connected to…” She realizes she knows who it is.

“Lydia?”

“Sweetheart?”

Erwann and Peter’s concerned tones snap her out of her horror. “I know who’s behind this.” She inhales, wishing it weren’t so. “It’s Jennifer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Recovery missions.


	40. Chapter 40

Out of all of them Peter’s the only one who really understands. Erwann hadn’t come until after the Alphas left, and she didn’t know Vee and Danu until basically two months ago.

“Who’s Jennifer?” Erwann asks. Lydia bites the inside of her lip to keep from laughing.

“A Darach.” She’s fairly certain the fae know that term and what it means. “She tried to revitalize the Nemeton with three-fold sacrifices in order to enact revenge. But then she vanished.”

Peter gives a bitter laugh. “She didn’t vanish. I killed her.” Lydia _should_ be surprised, but she knows Peter all too well now. Of _course_ he killed Jennifer. She manipulated Derek, tried to kill Cora, and was most definitely a threat. “Though clearly slitting throats doesn’t work as well as it should in Beacon Hills.” It startles a bark of laughter out of Erwann, whose ears pinken as she and Peter look at him.

Danu, however, seems unphased by it all. “So you know who your opponent is, and have the starting of a plan to defeat her. I shall recuse myself for the time being.”

Lydia looks, aghast, at her teacher. “You’re not going to help?” The idea is foreign to Lydia, who’s dealt with Peter in his unhelpful phase.

“Oh if you ask for advice I shall give it, and I will help protect you. This can only ever be your plan Lydia, for one simple reason: I do not _care_. It makes no difference to me whether these cities fall or survive.”

It’s a disturbing sort of sense Lydia would rather not contemplate. So instead Lydia inclines her head as graciously as she can. “Your candor is refreshing.” In that Lydia wishes it wasn’t. It’s been said and Lydia has to soldier on. “We find Scott first,” she says decisively. “He’ll be the hardest to pull out,” she thinks. It would be good to have Stiles’ Alpha on hand to pull _him_ out. If it could be done at all. Allison...well if Allison had any sense she’d be holded up at Oak Creek where she should be herself, if whatever Jennifer had done even affected the dead.

Something in her tells her she’ll need more than just the three of them, but she’ll think more about that _after_ she’s gotten them. “Find Scott Vee.” She doesn’t exactly shout it, but it feels like it. Granted, Vee hasn’t really indicated one way or the other if he can hear them speaking normally. Plumes of smoke leave Vee’s nose and Lydia finds herself clinging to his horns once more as Vee launched himself from the ground. Vee gains some altitude before turning around and heading back to Beacon Hills.

Except instead of heading straight for the town, Vee banks off towards the Preserve, trees passing below them in a blur. All of them move slightly as Vee’s head shifts from side to side, searching in some fashion Lydia’s not quite sure of. Plumes of smoke leave Vee’s nose again and Lydia feels her stomach rise up as he begins to dive down, headed for a slightly lighter speck than the surroundings. By the time Vee’s skimming the ground it’s easy to tell it’s Scott and moments later one of Vee’s hands shoots out to scoop him up. Vee’s wings fan out making everyone jerk as he comes to a near sudden stop, landing almost lightly on the ground.

Even from their current height she can hear Scott snarling, for some reason it makes her huff in amusement. “We need to get down there.” Vee clearly hears the request because his other hand is soon there, and Lydia climbs on, not really bothered when Erwann and Peter—but not Danu—follow. Her legs wobble slightly, her ‘sea’ legs expecting more sudden movements than the ground usually gives, but she manages to walk to Scott relatively unhindered.

She looks at Scott's milky eyes as he struggles to escape Vee's claws and, putting away her fear as best she can, she steps up to him. Behind her Peter growls softly but she ignores it. He'd probably like it if they just left McCall and everyone else like this, saying they deserved it, Lydia can't let herself feel the same way. Kira, Malia, Liam, Mason, Danny, Ethan, her mom, none of them—not even Scott and Stiles—deserved to be stuck like this.

If this really is Jennifer's fault then the only ones who might have a chance of stopping her are the people tied to the Nemeton. She takes a steadying breath, meets Scott's unseeing eyes, and reaches. It's harder with Scott than it had been with Peter and Seph. There's no bond between them. She's not part of his pack, he's not part of her retinue. But she's stubborn and powerful, and so very used to getting her way. If she can't manipulate a bond, then she'll go about it with more brute force.

Maybe now's as good a time as any to figure out if she's really more powerful than a True Alpha.

“Scott McCall.” Absently she wishes she knew his middle name. “You listen to me.” Glamour chills her mouth as more of it fills her than she's ever used before. “You're an _Alpha werewolf,_ and a true one at that. You're going to let a _tree_ and a spineless, third-rate witch get the better of you?” She doesn't care if her tone sound berating, if it's what gets Scott free then so be it. “You're an Alpha Scott.” She braces herself or what might happen next. “Fucking act like it.”

He thrashes wildly and she has to let go of him. Erwann's gloved hand lightly takes her elbow and Peter's constantly snarling. She resists the urge to snap and tell him he's being childish and to shut the fuck up; he's allowed to worry about her and what she's doing. “Fight it Scott,” she commands. “Fight Jennifer. You're better than this.” Or she desperately hopes he is. She's not sure if she wants to know how much of the past four and a half months has been Jennifer influencing Scott and how much was all him. She can't excuse it either way, but still she might be better off _not_ knowing. She can't afford doubt like that.

His eyes strobe red and brown and white. His teeth grow and shrink rapidly, hair sprouts and vanishes.

Her words are clearly not enough though, and she finds herself at a loss for what to say next. Erwann squeezes her elbow reassuringly and she feels _fur_ under her other hand. She looks down to see Peter, fully transformed, pushing his head into her hand. She scratches an ear and his glowing red eyes close briefly. Her own eyes close for a moment too, because she thinks she knows how to free Scott.

She just hopes he won't hate her for it.

Opening her eyes she focuses on Scott again. “Scott, look at me.” Unseeing eyes fly to her face. “Give in Scott.” She intones the words like they're a ritual. “Submit to the wolf. Let it have control. _Trust it_.” She demands it, gives him no choice but to do as she says.

His white eyes go brown and _sad_ , before red overtakes them. In his Beta form now Scott throws his head back and howls. Somehow manages to keep howling even as he shifts to full wolf.

The cage of Vee's claws shrink to compensate for Scott's new, smaller, form. For the next few moments Scott just lays there chest heaving like a bellows. Eventually though Lydia decides enough is enough; they don't exactly have _time_ for this. They still need to find and free Stiles and Allison. “Scott,” she takes a step back to him. “Scott, can you hear me?”

His head rises up and his ears twitch. A whine escapes him. An exhausted sigh leaves her. “You're being melodramatic. Actually _trust_ yourself and you'll be fine.”

Less than a minute later there's a naked boy in Vee's clutches, shaking. “Lydia?” Scott sounds hoarse.

Her shoulders slump in relief. “You can let him go Vee. He's alright now.” Or as alright as he can be. Vee huffs but does so, claws unfurling and... She averts her eyes. “There aren't any extra clothes just lying around are there?”

Erwann chuckles, which she's going to take as a no.

She sighs again. “Then I'm taking your shirt Peter.” She turns around, glad to see that her hope that Peter'd undressed before shifting proved right. Peter bares his teeth in protest and she twists her lips as she scratches his ears again. “Like Scott's going to appreciate it either.” Ignoring any other protest she picks up Peter's shirt then returns to Scott, intently keeping her eyes on his face. “Here.” She thrusts the shirt out.

He wrinkles his nose, but takes it. “Thanks.” Peter and Scott are the same height, but Scott's still a scrawny seventeen and the shirt covers enough that he's decent. “What's going on?” His eyes dart around taking everything in.

Lydia glances up to where Danu's watching everything impassively. “ _It must be you Lydia, because I do not_ care _.”_   "Jennifer's been hanging out in the Nemeton since she died, and for some reason is now using all that power to control everyone here and in Eureka too.” Lydia found she didn't really care _why_ Jennifer might be doing it. She has to wonder how far the Nemeton's influence really stretched. “She's also probably been influencing most of us since you got back from La Iglesia.” She'd like to think Scott won't infer from that that she didn't actually choose Peter, but she won't be surprised if he thinks Jennifer influenced her. That can be dealt with later either way.

Scott blanches. “Jennifer?”

“Yes. We think we can stop her, but we need to find Stiles.”

—

 _Find Stiles_. It's a daunting task to Scott at the moment. He feels like he's been scrubbed hollow, the wolf in him too large and filling spaces it hadn't before. It's frightening how right it feels. “How?”

Lydia looks at him in askance as Peter, in a _wolf_ form, trots over to his pants. Parrish, looking like every knight Scott's ever seen in fantasies, speaks, “Lydia. Vee thinks he's caught Stiles' scent.”

Blinking Scott realizes there's a _dragon_ sitting right next to them. His head starts to hurt. Jennifer's not really dead, and there are things that should only exist in fairy tales surrounding him. “Scott,” Lydia speaks softly, he watches her step up next to him, in what he realizes is the dragon's paw. “Don't worry. Vee will get us to Stiles fast.” He's too worn out to even care about that, but despite his exhaustion he starts when the paw, hand, whatever, begins to rise up. The breeze blows the stink of Peter's shirt out of his nose. Then they're climbing onto the head itself—and he's more mindful than ever that he's basically naked.

A moment later Peter, human again and shirtless—with _tattoos_ —and Parrish are up on the head with them. The dragon takes off and he lurches, only to be caught by a woman. She smells like the ocean. “Careful there,” he barely hears her whisper over the wind.

He's starting to hate feeling like this. “What did you do to me Lydia?”

“You're acting like being able to turn into a wolf is the end of the world, McCall.” Even over the wind Peter's shout is deafening. It feels that way. Scott can't fool himself anymore into thinking he's still human. He willfully throws himself into the moment, not letting himself think about what just happened, or what might be coming. Just letting himself feel a sort of bitter amazement that he’s  _flying_.

The dragon banks and Scott’s once again caught by the ocean woman. He manages a shaky smile. “Thanks.” She doesn’t acknowledge that she hears him. That’s something else Scott’s not going to think about. Now they’re over the downtown area instead of the Preserve, and Scott finds himself shuddering at the sight of all the people just _there_ , a few are shambling around, but the rest are otherwise still. Waiting.

“Well,” Lydia says grimly. “Here’s where we find out how they react to us. Vee, try and scare them off again.”

The dragon’s roar frightens Scott, the sound of it shaking the very marrow of his bones. The people below scatter and diving the dragon’s talons reach for a familiar looking set of plaid pajamas. “Don’t hurt him!” Scott shouts, not knowing if the dragon even hears him.

“We’re not going to hurt him unless we have to Scott,” Parrish says. Considering the man who said it has a sword strapped to his side, and looks otherwise prepared for bear, Scott doesn’t find his words all that comforting.

He finds himself keeping his mouth shut, as he watches the dragon’s claws wrap, almost delicately, around Stiles. “I need to get down there.” He has to try to save Stiles.

Lydia nods. “Vee, a hand?” Scott blinks. This dragon’s the woman who nearly crushed his hand? That...what? Not that he can think about it for long since the dragon’s other hand is soon up by its head. Scott scrambles on and at least manages to keep his balance as he heads down. He scrambles off the hand and runs to the other, where Stiles is struggling to get out.

Scott stares at his best friend, at the guy he considers his brother, and nearly cries. Stiles’ eyes are a milky white and seem to stare right through Scott. Except that Stiles is snarling at him, attempting to get his hands on him. Scott doesn’t want to contemplate what might happen if Stiles did. Carefully he reaches out, seeing no other option but to go into Stiles’ mind...again. Popping his claws he slots them into what _feels_ like the right spot, and he’s not about to ask Peter for help, as shortsighted as that might be. Driving them in he gasps, the connection happening easier this time, finding the path he’d already made from the last time.

Except this time instead of a cell in Eichen, Scott finds only empty whiteness. In a way it’s worse than when he and Lydia confronted the Nogitsune, because then it had _felt_ like Stiles’ mind. This, this is just...blank. Inside Scott a familiar spark rises up, not the one that makes him an Alpha, though it’s similar. In his own mind Scott grasps it, willingly feeding it memories of Stiles: when they were ten and Stiles mom had tried to hurt him again, Stiles daring him to jump off the roof, sharing popsicles in the August heat, Stiles spending his allowance—a whole _ten dollars_ —so that they could have a funeral for Rex, their first meeting in pre-k.

Memory after memory. A whole lifetime of friendship and brotherhood. All into the spark that is their bond. If it was enough to keep Scott from killing himself, then it should be more than enough to bring back Stiles. Opening his eyes Scott looks into the flickering ones of his brother.

And howls.

—

Peter bites back a snarl as Scott’s howl breaks through the early morning dark. If Jennifer didn’t already know where they were, she sure does _now_. There were much better ways to go about calling your pack—or had Scott already forgotten the midnight runs Peter had dragged him on? The Alpha roar was a blunt instrument, even though it got the job done.

Erwann seems to be on the same thread as Peter at least. “Shit. Vee! Bring them up!”

Lydia frowns, confusion coming off her in waves, as Vee rumbles and reaching out scoops up Scott and Stiles, both of whom freak out at the sudden action, Stiles more than Scott. When Vee raises them up he and Erwann haul them onto Vee’s head. Stiles only has time to say, “what the fuck?”, before Vee’s muscles coil underneath them and he’s launching himself up into the air. Stiles nearly falling off in the process—Scott manages to catch him. As they gain some height they’re all able to see a shambling horde of Jennifer’s thralls closing in on where they’d been.

Jennifer...there’s probably something cosmically hilarious about the two women he’s killed to protect his family coming back, alive or otherwise. Though it doesn’t look as though Jennifer’s thrown in her lot with an ancient deity—the Nemeton might be many things but an actual object of worship it was not. “What the _fuck_ is going on?” Stiles’ outburst pulls Peter from his thoughts. “Why the fuck are we on a dragon? Just...just…” There’s a small part of Peter actually pleased with the fact that Stiles apparently seems stunned into silence.

“Jennifer died, but became part of the Nemeton. Now she’s using it to control everyone. Don’t care how or why really,” Lydia explains. Peter’s touched she doesn’t mention this is kind of his fault.

“You and I are going to kick her out.” Scott continues, blandly heroic to the end.

“Nope.” The expression on their faces as Lydia pops their bubble is precious. “We’ve still got a few more people to collect,”—who?—“before we even think of heading to the Nemeton. Vee, I need you to head back towards Eureka, but angle north. Closer to there than here there’s an abandoned complex. I want you to land there.”

Peter has no real idea of where she’s talking about, but Scott and Stiles clearly do. “Why are we going to Oak Creek?” Stiles asks, sounding nervous. Peter doesn’t exactly care why, but the answer comes to him anyways: the Nogitsune and the Argent girl’s death.

“Because that’s hopefully where we’ll find Allison,” Lydia replies, her scent sad, but determined.

—

The words hit Stiles like, well, an angry Alpha werewolf.

If it’s bad for him, Scott, well…“Allison’s _alive_?!” He sounds so wrecked and broken up by the idea that Stiles reaches out and squeezes Scott’s shoulder to comfort him.

“No.” That one simple word coming from Lydia makes Scott flinch. “She’s dead, but she came back as a ghost.”

Lydia herself looks…not like Stiles has ever seen her before. There’s something tired about her, yet resolved to see it through. It makes Stiles feel proud of her—so long as he ignores the feeling of coldness that comes off her in waves. Behind her are Parrish—looking like he stepped out of King Arthur's court or something—and Peter, shirtless and with eyes glowing... _red_ ? With tattoos?! When did Peter get _those_. Stiles decides that on top of everything else is too much to think about and shoves it into a ‘worry about it later’ box.

“But why? What unfinished business did she have?” Scott asks plaintively, and really Stiles is sure this can’t get any worse.

A soft snort from behind him draws Stiles attention, and he turns to see a thin, blonde woman in dark clothes. He wonders how he could have missed her. “Ghosts do not work like that little Alpha.  _T_ _hat_  I know. No, this Allison is not back in this world to complete some task. She is back because of bargains poorly struck in life.” Her black gaze makes Stiles shiver. It makes him think she isn’t all alive in there. “I dare say the same will happen to you upon your death.”

Which isn’t disturbing _at all_.

“Danu,” Lydia warns, obviously not pleased. “Not exactly the right time.”

Before Stiles, or Scott from the look of it, can say anything, or ask questions—because seriously _what the fuck was going on?!_ —the wind buffeting them changes and Stiles looks down to see they’ve arrived at Oak Creek and are heading in for a landing. Stiles doesn’t exactly _remember_ Oak Creek. He was still recovering from the Nogitsune at that point. But he does remember Lydia’s scream in the tunnel, how it’d made him sick to his stomach to hear. He shivers just thinking about it, but it gets covered up by their dragon transport landing.

Seconds later there’s an outstretched....hand? Paw?—Stiles shakes his head, doesn’t matter— waiting to take them down. Lydia’s the first to get on, then Parrish, then Scott, and Stiles quickly scrambles after him. “Peter are you coming?” She asks. Stiles can’t really believe he kind of passed a civil...flight with Peter.

Peter shakes his head. “I’d rather not if it’s all the same to you.”

Stiles opens his mouth to make a snarky response, but before he can even make a sound, Danu is gracefully sliding onto the hand too, clutching a trident. “I believe I shall come, There is a...curious feel to this place.” Somehow those words unsettle Stiles more than anything else he’s heard since Scott pulled him out of Jennifer’s grasp.

Then they were being lowered down, and there were the gates of Oak Creek. Even to Stiles there's something _off_ about the place, an energy that didn’t like people, and would be more than happy to frighten them away. The fact that Lydia, Parrish, and Danu march right in? Well...today is apparently ‘let’s see how much we can freak out Stiles’ day. He and Scott share a look then follow. Stiles doesn’t want to get shown up by people he’s still not sure he can trust. There’s clearly nothing alive here, not even insects, which probably means they’re more intelligent than him.

“Allison,” Lydia calls out, but not loudly—which makes Stiles wonder if ghosts heard like normal people or like werewolves. “Are you here?” Then she falls silent, clearly in the ‘waiting for a response’ stage of this bizarre séance. Half a minute later or so Lydia bursts into a smile. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I was afraid Jennifer had gotten you too.”

Okay, Stiles can totally see how banshees might have been thought witches, or later insane. Because even though he’s 98% certain she wasn’t lying about the whole Allison-ghost thing, she looks, well...unhinged, talking to thin air like that. Lydia frowns and Parrish steps up to her, eyes darting around as he tightens his grip on his halberd. “Lydia?”

Then Danu moves. “Be at ease Erwann.”— _Erwann?!?_ —“There is nothing coming. The shade is just saying she is afraid to leave this place because she believes the stain will take hold of her.” The woman—who seems to corroborate Lydia’s story—holds her hand out to empty air. “Take my hand.”

So it’s really frustrating when there are people conversing with someone you can’t see or hear. He glances at Scott. “You okay dude?” Scott tightens his jaw and nods, not willing to say anything.

“Ah, you are one of my own.” Danu pulls his attention back to her. “That makes this much easier.” The world around them thrums, making something inside of Stiles unfurl, and less than a second later, there’s Allison, looking like every stereotypical ghost ever.

“Allison!” Scott rushes to her, but pulls up short. “I can’t touch you can I?” He sounds broken up about it.

“No,” Danu replies, letting go of Allison’s hand. “I’ve given her strength enough to fight off the stain’s influence, which has the side-effect of making her visible. Speech should be possible too.”

Allison smiles. “Hi Scott, Stiles.”

Even though she’s _here_ , the loss of her still hits Stiles in the gut. It’s been nearly a year now and he still kind of hates himself for being the cause of her death. He manages a faint smile. “Ready to help us kick ghost butt?”

“Always,” Allison replies, smiling back. It’s so much like before that he hurts all over again.

Scott turns to Lydia. “What now?” Stiles thinks ‘there Scott goes, falling back on bad habits’, even if Lydia actually appears to have some idea of what she’s doing.

“I, we…” she sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “You know, it’s hard to focus when none of you _shut up!_ ” Her shout makes Stiles jump, half thinking it’s directed at them. Parrish reaches out and takes her hand. “Stars! You could at least be helpful and speak in English.”

She casts an exasperated look at Danu, who gives a little shrug. “A scream may focus them.”

Lydia’s shoulders straighten and her scream shatters the night, making Stiles feel alone and helpless. When it ends her shoulders slump, seemingly in relief. “Thank you. Now, one of you who speaks some English: I know four isn’t enough.” Stiles finds himself frowning, while at the same time wildly curious about Lydia’s new process. “But _what_ should I be looking for?”

Pin drop silence surrounds them, until about a minute later when Lydia sighs again. “Alright, thank you.” Her focus returns to them as she leans a little further onto Parrish. “I don’t think I’m going to get more out of them, we can go.”

Without saying anything Parrish scoops her up. “Erwann…” Again with the strange name.

Parrish however, doesn’t seem to be all that perturbed by her warning tone. “Just consider it me helping you conserve your strength.”

A huff of laughter leaves Lydia as they begin heading back towards their dragon. “You’re going to make Peter worry even more.” She sounds fond, and Stiles makes a ‘gag me’ face at Scott.

The _second_ they’re close enough to the top of the dragon’s head Peter’s there, scooping Lydia up. “Are you alright?” He sniffs at her.

“I’m _fine_ , Peter,” she sounds more exasperated than really angry.

Her words don’t stop Peter from holding her close, but he does stop checking her over. “What was the scream for then?”

“To see if I could get the dead here to cooperate. They did, not that I understood what they were talking about.” Lydia rests her head on Peter’s shoulder.

“What did they say?” Allison asks apparently not bothered by the display. Who knew, maybe the dead didn’t care about relationships.

“They said to find a scion of the line who laid the first stones in these hills. Which seems about as maddingly unhelpful as you can get.”

Peter stills. “They mean a Hale.”

Oh, oh! Stiles knows this one! Even if it means he’s agreeing with Peter. “The Hales founded Beacon Hills.”

Parrish—or ‘ _Erwann_ ’—adds. “It makes sense then that they’d be good to have in a spell like this.”

“I guess that means I’m taking part,” Peter doesn’t exactly sound happy about it, which has Stiles at least bristling.

“No,” Danu breaks into the conversation. “You and Lydia shared blood, that makes you the same in certain aspects of magic, especially now with…” She drifts off for a second before continuing. “No, it will have to be another one of your family.”

Lydia snorts. “Oh, _now_ you’re being coy about it.” _Now_ she sounds angry.

Not that Danu seems impressed—Stiles has to wonder if anything does. “Of course. Your mother deserved to know so I intervened. It matters not to me if they know or not. Regardless Peter will not work.”

“Derek?” Scott suggests, sounding a tad reluctant really to have do so.

Lydia shakes her head. “No, it needs to be a female.”

Stiles kind of wishes he could live inside Lydia’s brain for an hour or two, maybe understand better why he thinks so differently than everyone else seems to.  “Yeah well. I don’t exactly have Cora’s number, or a way to get her here in less than thirty minutes. So unless resurrection's in your bag of tricks Lydia you’re shit out of luck.” Peter gives a warning rumble and Parrish gives him a sharp look at the comment. Not that Stiles is going to take it back. It’s true after all.

—

Erwann had nearly forgotten how insensitive Stiles could be. He shoves it aside as unimportant, and lays a calming hand on Peter’s yew tattoo, because they need to deal with this. And really, everyone’s apparently ignoring the obvious. “Malia,” he says. Everyone gives him a look and he rolls his eyes. “She’s Peter’s daughter isn’t she?”

Sharp laughter leaves Lydia. “Why does that feel ironic?” Erwann’s not quite sure what she means, but everyone seems to be in agreement.

After Vee takes off leaving Oak Creek behind Jordan slides his way over to Lydia and Peter. He takes the time to slip off a gauntlet before lacing his fingers with Lydia’s, the gold of his ring catching the light of the waning moon still high in the sky. “Hey, you alright?” He hadn’t quite been joking when he’d told her he was helping her conserve her strength.

Her eyes flutter closed and she squeezes his hand. “Yeah, I’ve also be better.”

“How’s the…” He glances over to Scott, Stiles, and Allison, seemingly engrossed in a conversation of their own. He doesn’t want to mention the pregnancy on the off chance Scott might be listening. Danu was right about that. It’s not their business unless Lydia wants it to be.

“Fine too.” She gives him an encouraging smile.

“Good,” Peter rumbles, his eyes flickering between their normal blue and Alpha red. “You know if this plan of yours doesn’t work we’re taking you out of here right?” Erwann’s glad he and Peter are on the same page.

Lydia sighs. “I know. I don’t like it, but I know.”

Peter lifts one of his hands and runs it through her hair. “I don’t like it either. This is _my_ city. I don’t like the thought of leaving it to Jennifer. I will to keep you safe.” A bright smile blooms on Lydia’s face and she rises up just enough to kiss Peter.

“Ow! My eyes!” Stiles exclaims with a sarcastic voice.

Since Lydia’s a little occupied Erwann takes the initiative and flips Stiles off. Allison’s ghostly laughter fills the air. Just because he can Erwann darts in and makes it a three-way kiss for the barest of seconds. Which makes Peter and Lydia pull apart, grinning. “Greedy,” Peter chides.

“Oh my God.” Now it’s the three of them bursting into laughter at Scott’s outburst. Erwann feels lighter as he settles in next to Peter.

“Deal with it Scott,” Lydia shoots back.

“Children.” Despite her quiet tone Danu’s voice cuts through their banter. “I believe Envy has found the girl.”

Lydia pulls away from Peter. “You’re going to have to be the one who pulls her out Peter. You’ve got the most significant bond with her.” She side eyes Scott, probably remembering how last week Malia’d come to them to complain about what he’d done.

Peter heaves a sigh, “Fine.” He manages to sound accepting and petulant at the same time.

“I’m coming too,” Erwann quickly adds.

Only to frown when Lydia shakes her head. “No, I need you to stay up here.” She again looks at Scott and the others. “Just in case.”

He’d rather not know what she means by ‘in case’ but he’s betting isn’t not good. “Alright,” he agrees, but he doesn’t like it one bit. Lydia darts in and kisses him before climbing off with Peter, steadying herself on his shoulder when Vee lands.

Apprehension fills Erwann as he watches Peter and Lydia get lowered to Malia. His hands twitch, old habits wanting him to pull out his sword and start sharpening it, hating that Lydia wanted him to stay up here. It’s not like he doesn’t trust Peter to look after her, because he would, except that Peter will be focused on freeing Malia, not protecting Lydia or the baby.

“Erwann,” Danu’s soft voice fills the space around them as she reaches out and lays a hand on top of his own. “Calm. They shall be fine.” He’s not sure if she’s taking a wild stab at his mood or if she actually knows what he’s thinking—it’s not as if he knows much about Danu beyond the stories he’s heard—but her gesture is well meaning.

“Okay,” Stiles blurts out. “What the hell is up with all this ‘Erwann’ stuff Parrish?”

He heaves a sigh, but decides it’s not worth the effort to lie. “It’s my real name.” The fact that he answers so honestly shuts Stiles up.

Their brief conversation has the added bonus of distracting him, though not for long considering an angry snarl from Peter draws his attention back down. Not that he can see much from his current vantage point.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” He turns his head to see Allison’s ghostly form next to him. “I’m Allison,” she says it with a smile that implies she already knows he knows that.

“Erwann, though everyone here also knows me as Jordan Parrish.” Well, most everyone. Usually he’d hold his hand out, but it’s not as if they can shake. “Lydia talks about you.” Not very often, but once in a while she’ll share with him a story, or something that Allison said—generally when Peter’s not immediately around.

Allison’s smile turns soft. “I think she really likes you.”

“I care very deeply about both of them.” It’s a pointed statement, to let her know Peter’s in this with them.

She makes a face, part confusion part concern. “I don’t know if I like that. Peter’s…”

“...Committed himself just as much as I have,” Erwann finishes for her. “It’s just a slow campaign to get him to admit _why_ he did it.” One Erwann will gladly do however.

“He killed my aunt,” she says softly.

Erwann shrugs. “Then she came back to life.” He leaves it at that, not wanting to attempt to figure out what Kate’s plan had been. Before their conversation can continue, Peter, Lydia, and Malia are rejoining them, Malia clinging to Lydia.

Lydia glances over to Scott and Stiles. “One of you is going to have to guide Vee to the Nemeton.”

The two boys share a looks, then Scott starts scooting forward.

As they take off for what might be the final time Erwann looks up at the stars, using their positions to calculate the time. Just past three, dawn still a few hours away. He’d like to hope that sunrise would be enough to dispel Jennifer’s curse and everything would go back to normal, but he doubts it. What he doesn’t doubt is the fact that, come sunrise, this will all be over one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: on spirit traps.


	41. Chapter 41

The Nemeton looks much like Lydia thought it might. A cracked stump, sunken into the ground and obviously dying.  _If only it would have happened sooner_. Lydia lets the angry thought pass through her, then focuses. Everyone, after all, is expecting her to have a plan.

First things first, Lydia closes her eyes and extends her senses. Jennifer, for all her lurking in the Nemeton, is dead, which means Lydia should be able to sense her. Except...she frowns, extends her feelers as far as they’ll go.

“What?” Scott’s voice breaks her concentration.

With a scowl and a sigh she opens her eyes and turns to him. “Jennifer’s not here, or nearby.” Although that seems obvious considering if she’d been nearby they’d probably be under attack by now. But a plan…“We need to...set up a trap, and lure her into it.” Easy enough to say. In execution on the other hand…

“Can’t we just track her and drive her here?” Malia asks.

Lydia can see Stiles revving up for a sarcastic response and she quickly jumps in. “No, she’s dead Malia, so we can’t exactly track her by normal means.” She shakes her head in pointless emphasization. “I want to set up the trap first.” While she and Danu have talked _about_ capturing spirits, they’d never really talked about _how_. She looks at her teacher, net slung across her shoulders and trident at the ready. Things have been...stormy between them recently, but she still trusts that Danu will give her guidance if Lydia asks for it. “I would appreciate any suggestions.” The formal words feel like lead on her tongue.

Danu inclines her head and steps into into the center of the group. “A spirit maze would be best,” she gives a small frown. “Though we have none of the usual items I would use to create such a thing, so we shall have to improvise.” Lydia doesn’t exactly like the sound of that. “It helps that you brought the anchors. They can hold the spell if the construct fails.” Surprised pleasure fills Lydia. “Will the lure you suggested be flesh and blood?”

“Yes.” It will need to be, Lydia realizes. Jennifer’s not likely to come for anything less. Though she’s not willing to think about _who_ it might be.

“Then we will want to make the maze large to start with, incorporate a bolt hole and a cutoff so that the lure is not drawn into the spell. That will also require something similar to the lure in the center so the spirit will continue in and not attempt to force her way out. Still, it is possible.” Which, to Lydia, feels like the best news she’s heard all night.

—

Peter helps only a little with the maze building—they’re using deadfall branches and twigs—more concerned with trying to convince himself that being the lure is a good idea.

Lydia’s thrown herself into the work, her eyes catching every little thing, and her command of the situation boding well about how good a queen she’ll be. Watching her fills him with love, and he finds he doesn’t even care if any of the others notice. He gaze drifts from Lydia to Erwann, also off to the side. He’d been the one to find the birch branches—potentially even better against dead like Jennifer than mountain ash—and so excused from the work. Not giving himself time to double guess his choice, Peter goes over to Erwann. “I’m going to be the lure.” He doesn’t fool around with trying to disguise it. Erwann’s smarter than that and deserves the straight truth.

He’s probably the one who can best understand as well.

Erwann nods. “Are you going to tell Lydia? Or just do it?”

Peter finds himself chuckling. “I’ll tell her.” He’ll tell her more than that even, he realizes as he looks at her again. She and Stiles are laying the last of the outermost ring, both their faces narrowed in concentration. The maze is a massively complex thing, one he hopes he’ll be able to navigate. His eyes fall on the small circle near the halfway point, the spot he’ll have to reach before he can rest. Even from here it feels far off. He pulls his thoughts away from that though, because there’s something even more important he needs to do. It’s easy enough to recapture Erwann’s attention, and he steps in front of the other man so he can look Erwann in the eye. Without thought his hands come up and cup Erwann’s cheeks.

“Peter?” Erwann’s scent grows worried.

Peter smiles to try and reassure him. “I know it’s probably going to shock you that I’m going to admit this, but…” He takes a deep breath, shoving far to the side the part of him saying to hold back. He doesn’t want to hold back anymore. “I love you.”

Brilliant joy wars with dark worry on Erwann’s face.

The kiss isn’t exactly _un_ expected, but it manages to catch Peter by surprise. That doesn’t stop him from responding enthusiastically, cheerfully ignoring the gagging sounds Scott makes. When they break apart Erwann’s scent is thick with arousal and his lips are swollen and sinful. “We need more time,” he pants out. A laugh escapes Peter, and darting in he kisses Erwann for a briefer second time, not really pulling away, but just moving his head so he can rest his forehead against Erwann’s. “Thank you,” Erwann says before they share a third kiss, “for telling me.” His gaze goes to Lydia. “Are you going to tell her?”

His gaze moves to Lydia as well, who’s looking at them eyebrow arched in question. “I am.” After all, it wouldn’t be fair to her if he didn’t when he loves her just as much. Another kiss. “You’re being greedy and hogging me all to yourself.”

Erwann huffs and gives Peter a light shove. “Asshole.” His expression turns serious. “But, and I mean this,” a final kiss, “come back safe and alive. We need you as much as you needs us. Now more than ever.

Their daughter...except Erwann doesn’t know yet. He deserves to though, so Peter learns in again putting his lips right against Erwann’s ear—this is private after all and he wouldn’t put it past Scott to be eavesdropping on them. “It’s a girl,” he says in the barest of whispers, then pulls away completely and heads towards Lydia.

She smiles at him, although he’s not sure how long that will last after he tells her his plan. Still he’s the only logical choice. “You look serious,” she teases lightly as he stops in front of her.

“A bit of a serious moment,” he responds, half wishing he could be as lighthearted as her.

Beside her Stiles tenses and Peter wholeheartedly wishes the boy wasn’t there. He didn’t deserve to share in this moment with them. “Go away Stiles. The adults are talking,” he bites out. It earns him an almost tea-kettle worthy shriek of indignation. Before the boy can mount an angry argument, Allison is there, ineffectually trying to grasp him and pull him back towards Scott, who seems to be conversing with Vee in her human form again, and clothed even though by rights she should be naked.  _Good_ , he thinks, turning his full attention back to Lydia. Unlike with Erwann he takes her hands, lacing his fingers with hers.

He and Lydia have been through so much in only a year and a half. She’s the woman he’s done so many things to, for, and because of. He’d never thought, when he’d first heard that intriguing scream of hers, that he’d come to love her as he has. He wouldn’t change it for the world. Start with the hard stuff. “I’m going to have to be the bait.” He continues quickly, not giving Lydia the chance to do more than open her mouth. “You know it has to be me, even if you don’t want to admit it. Who else is she going to chase without a second thought? If Danu’s right about our connection”—and considering they can go into each other’s minds if they choose to she is—“then you can use that to get her into the center of the maze.”

Lydia shakes her head, tears starting to fall from her eyes. “No! Peter…” She shakes her head again, “No.”

Peter finds himself smiling, one of his hands leaving hers to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away tears. “Lydia, what are you?”

She blinks, taken aback by the question. “A banshee.”

He gives a small shake of his head. Correct, but not what he’s looking for. “What else?”

“Princess of the Winter Court.” _There’s_ what he’s looking for.

“And princesses eventually become queens?”

Warily she nods.

“And what do queens do?” He’s not happy that he’s the one teaching her this lesson, but acknowledges he might be the only one who can and have it stick.

Her shoulder slump. “Rule. Make the hard choices.”

For a moment Peter’s reminded of the other conversation he’s had about hard choices. His eyes catch the faint circle of scar tissue around his left ring finger. “Yes.”

“I don’t want...I’m _not_ going to lose you Peter.” She sounds so indomitable he can’t help but be proud of her.

“You’re not, you _won’t_. I’m not going to disappoint you again. Anyways Erwann already gave me the ‘come back alive’ speech.” He gives a sort of ‘what can you do’ shrug.

Lydia gives him a watery smile and laughs. “If you don’t I’m going to bring you back again and kill you myself this time for breaking my heart. Understand?”

Another smile crosses his face as he crouches down a little. “There’s the woman I love.”

She looks at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

He kisses her lightly. “I,” kiss. “Love,” kiss. “You,” kiss. “Lydia Florence Martin.” He ends it with a dramatic movie-esque kiss.

He thinks she might be crying even harder when he finally pulls away. “I love you too.” She straightens, her eyes gaining a slightly steely look as her scent goes full winter. “Bring her here Peter. Bring her to me so we can end this.”

He straightens as well, letting his own eyes glow Alpha red. “Of course, Your Highness.” Turning around he runs into the woods, thinking of how best to bring Jennifer to him. The sound of a second pair of footsteps has him turning to see Vee running alongside him.

She gives him a good approximation of a wolfish grin when she notices his staring. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive Hale. Anyways, this promises to be a lot more fun than guard duty.” It startles a laugh out of him as he leaps over a fallen tree.

Then he throws his head back and roars, a clear challenge to anyone who might hear it.

—

Stiles watches Peter run off into the Preserve, the barest scosche of grudging respect rising up in him. After all, Peter could have made a big deal out of it, said he was doing it to ‘make up’ for all the things he’s done, turned it into a real heroic thing, but he didn’t. He’d talked to whatever-his-name-is—not that _Stiles_ can throw stones—and then Lydia, then ran.

Meanwhile Scott looks confused as to why Envy—who apparently was the dragon, which is both awesome and terrifying—had up and vanished. A very familiar roar breaks the silence, basically answering Scott’s question for him...kind of. “What’s Peter doing?” Scott’s eyes are flaring, and he’s got a hint of fang. It must be an instinctual thing, an Alpha reacting to the challenge of another.

“Drawing Jennifer here. We need to hurry. Malia, I need you to stand there,” she points to one of the four circles connected to the outside of the maze. “Allison,” the circle across from Malia’s. “Scott,” the third. “Stiles,” the last.

Part of him wants to argue as he goes to his circle, but he also knows he’s not a banshee. He quickly gets distracted from that though as he takes his place. He frowns, then blinks, then rubs his eyes when he sees colors surrounding his friends. The rubbing gets rid of them, but when he blinks again they return. Deaton had never said anything like _this_ could happen. Granted the former-druid had told him he was only a Spark, sort of the lowest-of-the-low on the magic scale, which, kind of frustrating, and not cool.

But, colors. Since they’re not going to go away he takes a good long look at them. At Scott, surrounded by firm lines of browns and greens, layered and mixed together like sheaves of paper. Malia, surrounded by wispy flicks of oranges and yellows. Even Allison has colors, a shifting kaleidoscope of blues and whites. Lydia...she’s surrounded in blues, greens, and purples, shades that remind Stiles of old bruises. There are also faint flickers of red around her, that grow more and more noticeable as she steps into the maze and begins making her way to the center. The red seeps into the birch twigs laid out, but they also turn into long tendrils, that shift and move around her, seemingly searching for something. The further in she goes the bigger those tendrils get, and Stiles watches as they finally seem to find what they’re looking for: them. One weaves itself into Malia, then Allison, then Scott. Stiles watches as a fourth heads his way and he braces himself.

A good thing too, because while there’s no physical reaction, something inside him bursts into life, filling his body with energy. Energy which, while it doesn’t throw off Lydia’s tendril, does encircle it, creating a barrier of sorts between them. Which Lydia seems to notice, if the way she turns and arches an eyebrow at him is any indication, as if _Stiles_ knows what’s going on. The energy inside him seems to settle, kind of, and Jordan—wreathed in dark greens—and Danu—waves of impenetrable blues—circle the maze, prepared to take on any physical threats that may come.

“What now?” Malia asks the question, but Stiles has been wondering himself in the back of his head.

Lydia huffs. “We wait for Peter to come back. In the mean time focus on the maze, make it as strong as you can. Jennifer’s not going to be happy when she realizes what we’re doing and this needs to hold her.” Obviously. Though for once Stiles keeps his mouth shut. As he watches, thin lines of blue-white and orange-yellow join Lydia’s red in the maze.

Scott’s frowning. “How?”

Instead of Lydia, like Stiles expected, it’s Allison who answers. “Think of when you were a kid and went into a corn maze, did you get lost? Did you think you’d never make it out again?” Allison’s words bring up, in Stiles’ mind, the first time he and Scott went into the ‘adult’ corn maze/haunted house at one of the local farms. As strands of brown and green join the colors in the maze, Stiles thinks Scott’s thinking about it too, except it’s not quite right for Stiles.

“Think about a time you were trapped,” Allison finishes and it clicks in Stiles’ mind.

“ _Your mom’s not well Stiles.” His dad crouched down to look him in the eye. “Sometimes I’m not going to be here to make sure bad things don’t happen, so when mom starts acting differently here’s what you need to do…”_

_...Something crashed against a wall above him and Stiles flinched in his hiding spot in the crawlspace. “Come out Zdzisław! I know you’re still here naughty boy. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Matka taught me how to spot a psucie. Naughty boy, doing this to your own mother.” Stiles gripped his stuffed dragon tighter and buried his face in the worn fabric._

Stiles shoves the memory away from himself, but not into it’s usual dark corner. Instead he pushes it into the maze itself, along with every other memory of feeling helpless and trapped. A flood of gray enters the maze and it takes Stiles a few seconds to realize it’s from _him_. In the center of the maze Lydia sways, but she remains focused on whatever’s in her hands, her lips moving in apparent near silence.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Danu and Jordan have a brief conversation and he watches as Danu goes and sits, while Jordan continues to patrol. Off in the east Stiles can just barely see the sky beginning to lighten, making him think hard about how long they’ve already been doing this. A rage-filled scream, and another angry roar, break the agreed-upon silence in their circle. If Stiles weren’t more engrossed in keeping the maze up he’d probably have jumped, then headed right for it. As it is he knows that the makers of those sounds will be heading towards them.

Soon enough even _he_ can hear what’s probably Peter crashing in the undergrowth towards them. When he bursts into the clearing he’s in the same Alpha form that sometimes still haunts Stiles’ nightmares—dark and hulking, more monster than thing of nature—although Stiles knows full well that nature could create some terrifying things.

As Peter gets closer to the circle, a black mist following him like a swarm of midges, he starts shifting back to human. Peter’s junk is something Stiles _never_ wanted to see, but is inescapable as Peter begins to navigate the maze. Stiles smells blood and he whips his head around to see that Lydia’s produced a knife from somewhere and had used it to cut open the back of her arm, the liquid running freely over her arm and hand to fall to the ground.

The cloud, which can only be Jennifer, chases after Peter, heedless of the danger—which Stiles supposes is a good thing from their perspective. How powerful is she that _Stiles_ can see her even though she’s dead? “ _Murderer!_ ” Jennifer’s voice sounds different, even if it’s still recognizable, resonant yet breezy. Stiles shakes off those thoughts, focusing on Jennifer and the maze. Finding that even _his_ heart’s beating faster in anticipation and worry as Peter gets closer to that midpoint. “ _You stole my revenge! Bastard! Omega!”_

Peter ignores the insults and keeps running, though Stiles can see Jordan bare his teeth and grip the hilt of his sword tighter.

Then Peter’s there, and he whirls around, body spinning like it can’t stop moving, as he ducks into the bolt-hole. Jennifer continues on and, as Stiles looks, an illusion of Peter running quickly resumes the other man’s path, heading straight for Lydia. Who’s gone back to focusing on her hands, eyes narrowed in concentration as she apparently does some banshee thing—or that’s what Stiles assumes. At first Stiles thinks they’re going to do it, that Jennifer’s so wrapped up in thoughts of revenge that she doesn’t even notice the trap. Then a wisp of her shoots out attempting to strike at Peter, who vanishes as soon as he’s touched, revealing the illusion.

Jennifer shrieks again, and it’s like hearing Lydia wail, except a hell of a lot more painful. Out of all of them Scott and Malia look the worse affected; though it doesn’t affect their contributing to the maze, brown-green and yellow-orange still pulsing strong. “ _Children. You think you can trap_ me!” If Jennifer had a face Stiles is sure it’d be sneering.

Stiles finds himself sneering in response anyways, because damn straight they can.

—

Despite the fear in Lydia’s belly she soldiers on, focusing on the chunk of bone in her hands and the spell needed to bind Jennifer to it.

More power pulses into the maze from Stiles, a seemingly endless stream of the stuff. Enough that, when Jennifer tries to turn around—back towards Peter in his safe spot—she runs into a wall, which Lydia can barely see thanks to Jennifer’s amorphous form.

Which gives Jennifer only one way to go: towards Lydia.

Being as she’s a shapeless mist, Jennifer doesn’t exactly ‘turn around’ but it feels that way to Lydia, given the few seconds after Jennifer gives up on trying to get past the barrier she does nothing. Then in the blink of an eye she’s hurtling towards Lydia. “ _You!_ ” She shrieks. “I won’t let you thwart me again!”

Lydia smothers the fear growing inside her at the thought that Jennifer could actually hurt _her_. Because while it might be possible, Lydia’s not going to let it happen. She squares her stance like Erwann taught her and looks right at the looming cloud that Jennifer Blake. “I am Lydia Florence Martin,” she throws out what power she hasn’t already invested in the maze. “Daughter of Morana and Hrötjur, heir to the Winter Court.” Her power latches on to a portion of Jennifer, drawing her closer. “I am a Banshee, she whom the dead _must_ obey. It is _you_ Julia Baccari who will not thwart _me_.” Her power connects with the bone, and then it’s like watching a tape measure spool back in on itself, until not a speck of Jennifer remains.

Lydia stares at the chunk of bone in her hand, pulsing hot against her skin. “I pass judgment on you, Darach, and find you guilty.” Somehow she finds the strength to grip the bone tightly in both hands and break it.

Waves of energy pulse out from around Lydia, knocking down everything in it’s path. Not that Lydia notices, the world around her having gone black before unconsciousness takes her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: The penultimate chapter.
> 
> ...you read that right folks, only two more chapters to go.
> 
> -  
> Psucie - So if Google translate did right by me this is the Polish word for 'spoiling' which beyond the usual meaning of something going bad, also has an interesting connotation in Polish Folklore. (the wiki link is dead now, and apparently my google fu isn't good enough to find another source sorry.)


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first off, sorry this chapter is late, I had work on Sunday, and then again yesterday (at the end of which I found out I was fired). And then TW finale was yesterday too (*dances like crazy over Hellhound!Jordan*). And I only _just_ finished the chapter after that. So thank you for being patient.
> 
> Also major thanks and Kudos to Elle, who is seriously kind of the best beta.
> 
> The Epilogue _will_ be up on Sunday as usual.

As Lydia sits on the back porch of her house, staring out over the lake, she feels far older than she had any right to. Since last week she’s been tired all the time, and just generally achy. Added to that, she’s had near-daily morning sickness. So even though the week’s been stress free, she’s not having a good time of it. Without any real sort of heat to it, she glares down at her still flat belly. “You could at least be as considerate as your fathers.” She blinks, realizing this is the first time she’s talked to her daughter, or even called both Jordan and Peter the fathers.

Lydia doesn’t have long to dwell on that though, because behind her the screen door clatters against the frame. Turning a little in her chair Lydia sees Seph and Vee carrying trays of tea and food, both getting set on the table. She smiles as Seph hands her a steaming mug. “Wonderful,” she looks at both of them. “Have a seat. We should have a little chat.”

Vee flops onto the bench of the table, stuffing one of the chocolate chip cookies into her mouth. Seph gives her a reproving look, then smooths her skirt as she takes one of the other chairs. “My Lady?”

“It’s nothing too bad Seph,” Lydia replies, cooling down her tea and taking a sip. “I just wanted to talk to you about what you wanted to do when Peter, Erwann, and I leave for Boston in a week and a half.” She peels a hand from her mug. “Cookies please.” Her daughter has picked up on the fae penchant for sweets. Vee fills up a small pate and hands it over. Balancing it on her knees she takes a shortbread and pops it into her mouth. After swallowing she continues. “You're both more than welcome to join us, but it won’t be required of you.” She wants it to be their choice. When her stomach decides it tolerates the cookie she takes another. “If you wish to do something or go somewhere else, then let’s talk about it.” Settling back against her chair Lydia takes a sip of tea, grateful it’s one of the few things her picky stomach readily tolerates.

“If it pleases you Lydia, I would much like to return to the Winter Court.” As expected Vee is the one who speaks first, although her request surprises Lydia.

“Of course,” she finally answers. “Though I had expected you to say you wished to remain here.” Vee might not be _fond_ of Beacon Hills, but she does seem to enjoy the modern world.

Vee gives a little smile. “I was thinking I would try my hand at knighthood. At the very least, my interacting more with the court will only do you well. It will also allow me to find out who may not be quite on your side.”

Something Lydia hasn’t even _thought_ about, ever. Compared to everything else, potential political enemies hardly seemed worth wasting time and energy over. But Vee’s thoughts make sense. “I see no reason to deny you. When we leave you may return to court.” Hopefully by a Way instead of by plane, but that would require talking to Scott and Stiles.

Whom she hasn’t seen hide nor hair of in the past week. Overall, she’s been grateful for it, more focused on getting herself better than trying to work out what new boundaries there were in their relationships, or just trying to talk to them _without_ falling back on old habits and standbys, neither of which will show that she _needs_ things to change between them.

“My Lady,” Seph’s words pull her from her mental quagmire. “If it is no trouble I would very much like to remain here.”

Lydia gives her a smile. “It’s no trouble at all Seph. If that is your choice then I have something I wish to give you.” Picking up another cookie, she nibbles at it.

Seph flushes. “My Lady, I need no gifts from you.”

Hiding her smile behind the rim of her mug Lydia replies, “I didn’t say it was a gift, Seph. In fact this is a loan.” She takes a sip. “I know how much you enjoy making jewelry, so I’m giving you a loan so you can start up your own business.”

Wide-eyed and stunned Seph stares at her “My...My Lady...I am honored.” Seph quickly stands and gives the deepest curtsy Lydia’s ever seen.

Part of Lydia wants to laugh it off, say it’s nothing. Except this is _not_ nothing, and to say so would be highly rude of her. Setting her mug and plate aside, Lydia stands and steps over to Seph, placing her hands on the other woman’s arms and guiding her up. “It is _my_ honor to do this for you, Seph. I know your success will bring me the same.” Leaning in and up she lightly kisses Seph’s cheek. Seph gives a bright smile, her eyes glittering, and hugs Lydia. Lydia happily returns the embrace.

From her place on the bench Vee watches them. “What of Aldans?”

“Jordan spoke with it the other day, and Aldans decided to remain here as well.” Her lips twitch into a smile. “I believe it mentioned something about putting down roots.” Which Lydia is certain is ridiculous plant humor. She pulls away from Seph and returns to her chair. “Well.” She wraps her hands back around her mug and takes a sip. “I feel much better now that that’s settled.” And she does. This is her retinue after all, the fae she’s supposed to be closest to. She’s not sure she considers them friends or confidants just yet, but living with them for two months has certainly brought them closer, being concerned over them feels natural. “Now all I have to worry about is moving.” The three of them have already seen—via _many_ photos—the house they’ll be moving into, and her mother was kind enough to send in a cleaning crew to air the place out, as well as get rid of anything that didn’t meet with Lydia’s approval.

“And school.” Which feels more like an afterthought at the moment, considering how prepared she is for that. She’s already registered and signed up for all her classes, as well as gotten all her textbooks. She’d even gone the extra mile to notify her teachers of her pregnancy, and that while she felt certain it wouldn’t cause her to be late or skip class, there was also the possibility. Paying for everything was even further from her mind; after all she had the leftover money from the remodel of the lake house, as well as the _staggering_ —the first time she’d gotten a statement from the bank she’d thought there had to be a mistake of some sort—amount of money that had been put aside for her by her parents.

“...and the trees,” she adds. That ties back into talking with Scott and Stiles, and right now she’s feeling bitter enough that she wants them to approach her first.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees a plume of smoke come out from Vee’s nose. “A full day today then. What are you planning on doing tomorrow?”

Lydia laughs, her day feeling just a little better.

—

Peter stops reading when he catches Derek’s scent and looks up from his work to see Derek standing at the other end of the vault. Hopefully this encounter doesn’t have Derek possessed by an ex-lover. The pain still left over from that...’conversation’ reasserts itself despite Peter’s best intentions. “Are you going to kick me out again?” It makes him sound old and bitter, but those words _stung_.

Derek’s scent goes pained, and he won’t meet Peter’s gaze. “No.”

While Peter had known he wouldn’t be able to stay angry at Derek for long—they were family after all, by blood if by nothing else—he hadn’t thought he’d be so...assaulted by memories of ‘better times’ when they did see each other again. It’s a surprisingly easy thing to stand and go over to Derek, to rest his hands on his nephew’s shoulders and look him in the eye before pulling him into a hug.

“I’m sorry.” Saltwater tinges the air, and it’s achingly familiar the way Derek’s nose settles into his shoulder.

“I know,” Peter replies. Saying he forgives Derek would be too much of a lie, same with any platitudes of ‘understanding’. Then again he has to wonder if Derek’s ever forgiven him for his role in Laura’s death. It’s something they should talk about, but for right now mending what they’ve broken seems like a good first step. He noses at Derek’s hair, honey and apples filling his lungs.

They remain that way for a time, easy silence falling between them. When Derek steps away, his heartbeat’s steadier than before and his scent has mellowed out some. “What now?”

There’s something wonderfully absurd about Derek asking him that question. Not that he can quite put his finger on _why_ that is. Still, it’s an easy enough answer on his part. “I’m going to be leaving soon.”

Derek actually recoils, his expression hurt. “What?”

“Lydia’s going to MIT,” he explains patiently. Derek’s acting like this move is permanent when it isn’t. Lydia has invested too much time and money into the lake house to live in it for only two months. “Jordan and I are going with her. To help look after the baby when it’s born.” In Peter’s mind Lydia’s far too intelligent to be held back by a child, but he doesn’t doubt she could juggle a baby and school quite easily if she wanted to, and he and Jordan will be more than willing to do the things she can’t, or chooses not to. Lydia’s future is only beginning after all. He’d hate to see it cut short.

“What?!” Ah, yes. Derek surprised is better than Derek hurt he supposes.

“Lydia’s pregnant.” Right now he feels it’s best to leave it at that.

Awe, happiness, and a dash of hurt dance across Derek’s face. Then he’s stepping into Peter’s space again, giving him a hug that makes Peter’s ribs feel like they’re about to crackt. “When’re they going to be born? Do you know the sex? Is it yours?” Derek’s eyes narrow a little, clearly a bit mistrustful. “Or Parrish’s?”

Despite the vague rudeness of the last question, the whole thing reminds Peter so much of when Derek was ten and discovered that his Uncle Peter knew ‘everything’ that Peter can’t help but chuckle. “We think the end of March.” Which should be interesting considering Lydia’s own birthday. He decides to skip over the middle question. It feels sort of right to keep the sex of their child to themselves. Or maybe it’s one of those strange superstitions that you can’t quite remember where you heard them from, but you find yourself holding to nonetheless, even if you’re not sure why you should be doing it. “We’ve agreed it doesn’t matter who the father is.” He decides not to elaborate, not sure if Derek’s completely comfortable with the idea of his relationship. Although he’s grateful Derek hasn’t turned him out of hand because of it, which is something he’s certain Talia would have done.

He tilts his chin a little to look Derek in the eye. “When they’re born I’d like for you to be there. As part of my pack.” It’s a risky statement from Peter’s end. A bad memory or two of the last time Derek was in his pack making themselves known. However he means it. There might be a very rocky road between them in the future, but it’s one Peter finds he’s willing to walk. While Jordan and Lydia can’t technically be part of his pack, he feels no compunction in already considering the baby as part of it, and his pack needs to be there when she’s born.

“But...you’re…” Just to forestall any other stutterings attempting to make themselves into a question, Peter flares his eyes, this time actually enjoying the surprise that comes off Derek. “When?”

“At the end of June, when we went to Montana.”

Derek’s eyes narrow a little again. “Who’d you kill?”

Peter tuts. “Really Derek?” The chide doesn’t have any real heat to it though. “I didn’t kill anyone. It just happened.” Sort of. He doesn’t think Derek would like to hear about his uncle having sex.

A look crosses Derek’s face, one with more than a little incredulity in it, but to Peter’s relief Derek doesn’t press for more. “Yes,” he says instead.

They’re hugging again, and Peter hopes this doesn’t become a thing. Maybe in a year or two he’ll be more used to physical affection like this, but for now it still feels a little...off. “Good.” It comes out more gruff than he intended, although he doesn’t think he’s fooling Derek for a second.

—

Lydia hears a knock on the front door and, as the dead whisper to her, she feels a modicum of dread.

_'The Magus comes.'_

_'He wants to speak_.'

Seph calls out that she's got the door and Lydia stares at her reflection in the mirror, taking deep breaths. She can do this, she can talk to Stiles, no problem. They'd had the beginnings of a great friendship before everything fell apart and she finds she wants that again. She doesn’t let herself forget that things can’t go _completely_ back to the way they were before. She expects Stiles no longer has a crush on her, but she wouldn’t put it past him to still idolize her and not really listen to what she has to say. Something that she most definitely won’t stand for. And if he’s not going to listen, then she’s not going to even try. A knock on the bedroom door startles her out of her thoughts. “Yes,” she answers, breathing a mental sigh of relief her voice doesn't sound as shaky as she feels.

“My Lady, there's a Stiles–”

“I know Seph,” she interrupts as gently as possible. “The dead already told me.” She stands and goes to the door, opening it and looking Seph deep in her earthy eyes. “I'll talk to him in the study, and if you could ask Vee to make some chamomile tea I would appreciate it.” She nearly leaves it at that, then remembers. “Also if Peter or Jordan return tell them I'm not to be disturbed. This is between Stiles and me.” For now. She can let Stiles and Peter work out whatever problems they have later, if at all.

Seph curtsies. “Of course My Lady.” Together they head down to the ground floor, Lydia going into the study and Seph back to the front door.

Lydia sits in a wing backed chair that used to reside in Jordan's bedroom but now rests near the copper art piece that stands in for the fireplace. For a short time she lets herself recall the fond, if mostly sexual, things that occurred in said chair before marshaling her thoughts in preparation for the, most likely, uncomfortable discussion ahead of her. A short knock on the study door, the Seph steps in and curtsies again. “Stiles Stilinski, My Lady.”

Stiles is frowning at Seph a little as he comes in. Not much has changed about him in the past week, although she finds it hard not to notice the beginnings of tattoos on him, not when they're so prominently displayed on his arms. She doesn’t think it’s an intentional copying of Peter’s own, but there’s something at least amusing about that thought. Seph leaves, but Stiles is still frowning. “I didn't know you had servants.”

It isn't a question, but the way he says it makes her feel like she _should_ be ashamed of the role Seph chose. Instead, she steels her spine and gestures at the much less impressive chair across from her. “Seph doesn't _have_ to do what she does Stiles. She _wants_ to do it because it makes her feel useful and helps her contribute to my life.” She arches an eyebrow as he sits. “I'm pretty sure you didn't come here to criticize my house and how the people who live in it act.” She lets her voice grow pointed. She will _not_ let him insult _anyone_ in her retinue, even if he doesn't realize it's an insult.

“Okay fine,” he sighs and slumps into his chair more. “Look we all fucked up and I–”

“Stiles,” she interrupts, holding a warning finger up.

He narrows his eyes. “Lydia I'm trying to _apologize_.”

“I know Stiles. I'm willing to talk about that, about how _you_ and _I_ failed each other. _But_ , if you came here to apologize on behalf of _everyone_ , especially Scott, then you can get up and leave right now. Because I will _not_ accept those from you. If Scott wants to apologize for what he's done and said then he can damn well come here and do it him-fucking-self.” _That_ is the one thing she’s not going to budge on. Blanket apologies just won’t cut it here. Each and every one of them need to apologize on their own.

Tension simmers in the room, only to be broken by Seph entering again, the large tea tray in her hands. “Just set it down Seph,” Lydia says it quietly, afraid if she talks any louder her anger will bleed out wrongly onto her. “I’ll serve us.”

Seph's answer is as just as quiet. “Yes My Lady.” Before setting down the tray and darting out of the room.

Picking up the pot Lydia cools it as she pours, first for Stiles and then herself. Stiles gives her a quiet thank you as she hands the mug over—and she has to keep herself from grimacing, he doesn’t understand after all—and he swipes a gingersnap from the cookie plate. After setting down the pot she picks up her own cup and drinks, more than willing to wait Stiles out. He could never stand silence for long. As if mimicking her Stiles takes a sip from his own cup, a brief flash of surprise crossing his face, soon consumed by curiosity. He takes another sip. “What’s in this?” He doesn’t sound disgusted at least, just interested.

“I thought it was just chamomile,” she replies, frowning a little she takes another sip. Overall there’s only the floral sweetness of the chamomile, but underneath it there’s something more. “I guess if you really want to know you’ll have to ask Vee before you leave.” Provided this didn’t turn into the sort of argument that would get him tossed out of the house. All Stiles gives in response is a thoughtful hum before taking another sip from his cup and another cookie from the plate, silence falling between them once more.

Grabbing a shortbread—at the moment Lydia would much prefer not to run out of the room to vomit—she nibbles at it, again content to wait Stiles out once more. _We should start packing soon_ , she thinks idly. It shouldn’t take long, she’s sure, even if she has the most out of the three of them. She’s more than happy to leave most of it here, dragging only what she can’t live without to Boston.

“Okay,” he sets his cup down with a loud clatter, one that she dislikes in a purely mannerly fashion. “ _I_ fucked up, but in my defense Peter is not the most trustworthy of guys, and I _still_ don’t really trust him.”

Like she expect him to. “ _I_ don’t care that you don’t trust him Stiles, because your opinion has no real bearing on my relationship with him.” She rolls her eyes at Stiles’ ‘gross’ expression. “Or Jordan’s with him. You’re just going to have to trust that we both know what we’re doing.”

Stiles’ expression turns sour and he picks up his cup again, taking a drink. “I’m not sure I’m quite at that point yet. I still think you’re-”

“You finish that sentence,” she snaps, “and I have no problem with calling Vee in here to toss you out of the house on your ass. Understand?” Anger colors her voice and the temperature in the room drops a few degrees. “I will not let you insult or belittle me just to make yourself feel better about me Stiles. I am not mentally unsound, or a ‘wackjob’.” Stiles flinches and she feels vicious satisfaction. He clearly hadn’t thought she could hear him back then. “I made my choices of my own free will and you have no right to demean them.”

He stares at her like she’s just grown a second head, and Lydia forces herself to move slowly as she takes another drink from her now ice tea. Otherwise she might hit him. It has the added bonus of keeping her from continuing in her rant. Past a certain point it would feel more like she’s saying the same thing over and over again, and she fears if she says if often enough Stiles won’t really hear it.

Eventually a flush creeps up his neck and he runs a hand through his hair. “ _Fuck_ , I thought this was going to be easy.”

Frost creeps over the sides of her cup. “It’s not,” she responds tartly. “We can’t be what we were before all this Stiles. I don’t know about you, but I’m a different person now.” If he doesn’t understand _that_ then she has the sneaking suspicion they’ll go nowhere fast.

“Yeah.” For the first time in a long while it feels as if he actually _looks_ at her. “Yeah you are.”

The room begins to return to its original temperature. “It’s a start,” she concedes, picking up another shortbread and taking a bite. “Now let’s hope we can make something of it.”

—

Scott sits across from him, Peter, and Lydia at the kitchen table, and even to _Jordan_ he clearly doesn't want to be here. Even if Kira is there as well, although Jordan’s not quite sure why—except possibly as moral support. Or maybe it’s an Alpha thing, that Scott will be more focused and centered if one of his pack is here. Jordan hopes so. The more balanced they can keep their conversation the better this should turn out for all of them.

Not that they’re doing much in the way of serious conversation, or much conversation at all. Lydia and Kira are chatting almost blandly about TV shows while Scott is fidgeting in his seat, probably waiting for Vee and Seph to finish setting up drinks and snacks on the table between them. Seph hands him a mug of nice hot coffee, and he thanks her with a touch, earning him a sliver of a smile. Then the two women are gone, leaving the five of them alone in the kitchen-dining area.

Kira and Lydia’s conversation turns silent, but it’s a few more seconds before anyone else speaks.

It’s Scott of course who speaks first, turning slightly so he can look Lydia in the eye. “Stiles said you wouldn’t accept an apology for me from anyone else but...me.” He looks so earnest it’s kind of heartbreaking really. “Lydia, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I pushed you aside like that, and I’m sorry I ignored you when you were clearly trying to reach out for help.” His gaze just barely flickers to Peter, as if Scott blames himself for Lydia’s current relationship. Jordan grits his teeth and takes a sandwich from the tray. “People were _dying_ and I needed to prioritize.”

The temperature of the room dips slightly, and Jordan can just see Peter rest a warning hand on Lydia’s knee. “Scott,” Peter says patiently. “Telling a former packmate that you value the lives of strangers over those in your pack isn’t the best of ideas.” His attention turns from Scott to Kira. “You’re okay with that?”

“Of course I am!” Kira’s posture straightens, her eyes flaring electric orange for a second. “There’s nothing wrong with trying to save lives.” Blood fills his mouth from a bitten tongue, because that’s true, but also so wrong at the same time. It’s shocking actually. A soft sigh leaves Lydia, and Jordan can just imagine her thinking ‘ _how naiv_ _e and foolish’_ , or maybe he’s just projecting.

“Look Scott, I'm more than willing to try and be friends, but if you think that means I'm joining your pack again then you have another thing coming. I'm the _princess_ of the Winter Court.” He feels a burst of pride over the fact Lydia’s being so blunt. In his mind being coy and obtuse is all well and good, but knowing when to stop is a skill some never seem to learn. “The only person I'm subservient to is my mother the queen, and even then only until she steps down. I _can't_ join a pack. I can't have anyone else that could possibly have that sort of control over me.”

Scott frowns. Which in Jordan-Erwann’s mind means Scott’s actually listening, a trait he’s found few teenagers have. “Lydia, you know I wouldn't do that.”

As far as ‘comforting’ statements go that one could use some work. Jordan’s not sure why Scott’s so bent on Lydia rejoining his pack, unless it’s just that she used to be in it before and now that she’s not he wants her back. Lydia doesn’t soften, and Jordan-Erwann finds himself reaching under the table to squeeze her hand in solidarity. Scott's a good guy but he'sso innocent to think that apologies and promises are enough. “That doesn't change the fact that in the eyes of my people you would have more power than me if I joined your pack, meaning _you'd_ be the one facing all of my court problems.”

Scott’s face falls, making him look quite a lot like a kicked puppy, and Jordan watches as Kira reaches over and takes one of Scott’s hands. “That seems kind of harsh doesn’t it?” she asks.

Jordan decides it’s time he stepped into the conversation. “Yes, but we work on a stricter hierarchy.” He sees no point in trying to disguise the fact that he’s fae too, if Scott and Kira even read his words that way. “If I understand correctly a Beta can always question an Alpha’s decision right?” He looks at Peter and Scott.

Scott nods enthusiastically. “Yes,” Peter agrees. “If it’s a good pack.”

Jordan nods in understanding. “In Court there are some ways you can question the queen’s decisions, if she says the choice is final then no one can gainsay her.” In public, but that seems like far too complicated an issue to bring into this right now. “She _is_ the ultimate power in our world, and one day Lydia will take her place. If Lydia submits to an Alpha she’s basically saying that she _isn’t_ the ultimate power, that there’s someone in the world that has more power than her. Which diminishes her, as well as her choices, because if she’s not the ultimate power in the land, then anyone can question her.”

A gross oversimplification of the issue, but it would take to long to get into the nuances—like the roles of consorts/kings relative to queens—and those would honestly just muddy the waters of their current issue. Simple is better. He takes a drink from his coffee as good a way as any to let everyone know he’s done.

Lydia gives him a smile, and under the table her thumb rubs against his wrist. “What he said. That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. This is my home just as much as yours, and there are lots of people here who I care about,” she smiles at Kira. “If you think we can’t be friends then I can live with that, just as long as you accept that I’ll still be friends with people in your pack, and people who interact with your pack. I’d like to hope that even if we can’t be friends we could have some sort of peaceful coexistence.” She glances at Peter, because if any one of them is going to dispute that hope it’s going to be Peter.

He crosses his arms as he looks at Scott, which stops Scott from speaking, but Jordan thinks is actually quite rude. “I'm going to be blunt.” Both Jordan and Scott snort though for different reasons Jordan’s sure. Peter for all his smooth talk is almost always blunt. He gets a brief friendly glare, which makes him bite his lip to keep from smiling back. Scott gets nothing at all—well except Peter's full attention. “I _despise_ the path you seem more than happy to take as an Alpha. Oh I may agree with some parts, but your blithe choice to forgive every enemy that crosses your path and give them a second chance will assuredly one day bite you in the ass, as will your choice to try and save everyone. However that damn tree picked you over all the other Alphas it drew here and I’m just going to have to learn to live with that.” He gives Scott a flat look. “Understand Scott, in the eyes of powers far older than that tree of yours Beacon Hills is _mine_ , and no amount of power you may have, or even anything you may do, will change that.”

“But,” Peter’s shoulders soften, and he leans towards Lydia. “If Lydia wants us to coexist, then I’ll try.” It’s taking a lot out of Peter to admit that. Jordan bumps Lydia’s knee and squeezes her hand. He wonders if he needed to have bothered from the way she leans towards Peter herself, her free hand lacing with the one still on her knee and squeezing it. Kira and Scott look at them, seemingly caught off guard by both Peter’s admission and the easy affection between the three of them. Jordan-Erwann wonders what they were expecting; it’s just a relationship after all.

“I,” Scott appears to be having trouble with figuring out what to say. “I do want to be friends Lydia, but…” Scott finally picks up his own mug and drinks, then stares at it, like it’d somehow caught him off guard.

“But,” Kira continues, “you could have told us what was going on with yourself. You were keeping just as much from us, and that brings up some trust issues.”

Lydia lets go of their hands and picks up her own mug, taking a smooth drink from it. Not that Jordan’s fooled. Her spine’s a little straighter and the room’s cooled again. “Yes, I could have. To be perfectly honest I still haven’t told you everything still. That’s my prerogative, and in my mind you,” she looks directly at Scott, “are the one who’s done the most damage to this relationship.” She drinks again, glancing at the sandwiches, though he doubts she’ll attempt to eat any of them, even if she must be hungry.

Scott’s shoulders slump again. “I can live with that,” he agrees. “I guess I’ll ask: what can I do?” His appearance changes a little, making him look more like the man he _could_ be if all worked out well.

“There _is_ something you can do for us.” Lydia’s smile isn’t the most pleasant, but it’s nicer than Jordan thought it would be.

Scott straightens, clearly pleased that there _is_ something they can start out with. “What?”

—

Scott stands in front the Nemeton, _his_ tree, nervous as all get out. It was a shocking surprise though to get there and _see_ signs that the Nemeton is recovering now. A sapling has emerged from the crack in the middle of the tree. It still looks flimsy but it’s _alive_. The fact that it’s only been there for a few days is even more impressive. Allison flickers into his view. Even though whatever Danu did to her has faded away, he and Stiles can still see her—a product of their bond with the Nemeton the three of them have agreed—giving him an encouraging smile. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he, Stiles, and Lydia say at the same time. Jordan hardly reacts, and Scott wonders how often he’s caught Lydia talking to people he can’t see that he’s apparently used to it, or if it even ranks among the weirdest things he’s seen. He’d love to talk more with Allison. Despite the fact they’ve been talking regularly for a week and a half now, he still feels like he’s got so much to tell her. But he has ‘work’ to do.

He can feel the eyes of everyone else there on him as he lays a hand on the worn wood. “ _We want to be able to open a Way from the Winter Court to here, and to plant two trees in the cemetery. We can’t do either unless the Nemeton agrees.”_ Lydia’s request seemed simple enough, not that he really gets it, nor has he done anything like this before. He can feel the tree much more clearly in his mind, especially now that Jennifer’s influence is gone, and as confidently as he can he reaches for it. _I have a request I would make..._ His mind scrambles a little for something to add to that that sounds good. _On behalf of a friend._ Considering she trusts him to do this he’ll consider them friends.

Like a firework in his brain the Nemeton is _there_ , incredibly old and powerful and utterly inhuman. It’s means of communication is more in concepts than anything else. Being connected to it like he is must mean he gets some sort of internal translator or something because he knows what it’s trying to ask him: _who-what?_

 _She’s a fae, princess of the Winter Court, and she wishes to open a Way to her court from here so she may come and go more easily. As well as being able to plant two trees in the cemetery for her own purposes._ He gets the first one, because hey, he’d sign up for near instantaneous traveling too, but the second one just seems _weird_.

 _Negotiate-returns_. He blinks. “Uh Lydia?”

She steps up next to him. “Yes?”

“I think it wants to negotiate with you about payment?” The fact that a _tree_ understands the concept of a trade/deal/whatever you want to call this is just one more bizarre fact of his life.

Without hesitating she puts her own hands on the tree, and out of politeness Scott takes his own off—though he can vaguely feel them both in the back of his head. Since he doesn't expect their...'conversation' to last long he stays where he is. More quickly than he'd thought though Lydia breaks away. “I'll be right back.” He watches her go over to Jordan and begin a hushed conversation with him. Scott tries to focus on something else so he doesn't overhear.

Though from the way Stiles sidles up to him, his best friend has other ideas. “Dude.”

“No,” Scott tries to sound as firm as possible. Though he doesn't know how much it'll do to the guy who knows basically all his secrets. “I know you want me to listen in and I'm not going to.”

Stiles pouts. “Aw, come on Scotty. Aren't you a _little_ curious as to why she needs to talk to Parrish?”

Scott is, but he'd like to think that if it's important she'd tell him. He's got to extend that much trust on his end, otherwise things might start to break apart again. Even though they're already technically 'broken apart', and won't ever really be able to go back to the way they used to be, he's still got hope that they can at least regain some of the good parts they used to have together.

Allison floats over as well, miming jabbing Stiles. “Nosy,” she chides fondly.

That train of thought, accompanied by an almost soothing banter from Stiles and Allison, gets him to Lydia's return. The three of them watch as she puts her hands back on the Nemeton and they resume their conversation. Once again she pulls away about a minute later. “It accepted my bargain.” Though Scott hopes she'll elaborate more than that. A sound behind him has him—and Stiles as well—turning around to see Jordan...taking his clothes off?

“What the holy hell is going on?” Good thing he's got Stiles, who's more than willing to ask the stupid questions.

Lydia crouches down and pulls a knife from her boot. Scott's pretty sure he's not going to like where this is going. “The Nemeton wants something of relatively equal value in return for my favors, so I offered it a life to spur growth.”

Scott's blood runs cold, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Stiles gape at Lydia. “You just decided to offer up Jordan's life because you could?! Why not like a deer or something?” Scott doesn't even care that his voice breaks a little; that's just far too cold-hearted for his tastes, especially considering everything they talked about yesterday.

“I thought you loved him!” Stiles blurts out.

Allison remains silent though, which _hurts_ , that she apparently doesn’t agree with them.

The look she gives the both of them, as Jordan willingly lays himself down on the Nemeton clad only in his boxer-briefs, is unimpressed. “Not just because I can Scott. It’s because at the moment he's the only life I can offer that won't permanently die. I doubt the Nemeton would accept an animal life when an inhuman one will give it that much more power.”

“Say what now?” Scott's glad he's not the only one confused.

She sighs. “It'll be better just to show you. Trust me.” Feeling like he's going out on the most tenuous limb ever Scott does, watching as Lydia leans over and whispers in Jordan's ear—this time he's far too close to _not_ overhear. “This isn't going to be fun for you is it?” Jordan mutely shakes his head. “Then I'm sorry, and thank you.” She kisses Jordan, before pulling away slightly and driving the knife into one of Jordan's armpits. When she pulls the knife out blood torrents out—and despite the fact that he’s used to blood working at the clinic Scott gags at the scent of it—and she repeats the process with the other one.

Both horrified and entranced—well to be honest he’s not sure how Lydia and Allison feel— the four of them watch Jordan bleed to death on the Nemeton. Scott's not sure if it's worse for him, Stiles, and Allison—who can all feel the power of the blood filling them—or for Lydia. But they do it. The whole time Lydia holds Jordan's hand, and even though she's not crying Scott can smell tears on her.

It takes a while for Jordan to die, even though he's bleeding out quickly, and during that entire time it's hard for Scott not to notice the way the Nemeton shoots up like a time-lapse, turning from a tiny sapling to a tree that’s easily a few years old, maybe even a decade. Eventually though there's one final shuddering breath and Parrish’s eyes close. Lydia squeezes his hand tighter between her own and Scott feels the urge to say something comforting, but before he can Jordan's wounds rapidly close—which actually manages to take him by surprise—and barely a heartbeat later Jordan's body bows off the Nemeton and he inhales loudly. “Fuck,” he hisses.

Reaching out Scott helps Jordan sit upright, not missing how Jordan moves woozily and slowly. He's willing to bet Jordan's suffering from severe blood loss even if he's alive again.

“That's one hell of a party trick. How'd you do it?” Stiles is still standing next to Allison, the tattoos on his arms more noticeable now, the lines of power thicker. Yet another sign of how much the Nemeton’s wiggled it’s way into their lives. A week ago they’d appeared as dots on Stiles’ arms, looking like new sun-freckles, except they’d grown a little bigger each day as well as darker in color and started turning into shapes that freckles didn’t have. So they’d gone off to Deaton, who’d just stared at the tattoos, amazement rolling off him in waves even if his face didn’t show any expression. They’d learned about Maguses, who were apparently the top of the human magic food chain.

Jordan groans, pulling Scott from his memory. “None of your damn business Stilinski. Maybe if you need to know I'll tell you, but it's our secret.” He turns his attention to Lydia. “Get my clothes please?” She nods and walks off.

Before he can get bitchy about it Scott elbows Stiles in the gut—he loves his friend but he can get pushy when he's got no right to. “You alright?” He reaches out again and puts his hand on Jordan's shoulder to keep him from falling over.

“I've been better, but I'll be right as rain in a few days after I replenish everything.”

Scott turns slightly to see Lydia returning, a fond smile on her face. “Peter's going to fuss.” That mental image is so completely alien to Scott he's pretty sure he'll never be able to unsee it. “After he's done shouting at us for doing something so reckless.”

It gets a chuckle out of Jordan, “He's got no right to lecture me. I'm older than him.” He leans into Scott's touch. “Help me up.”

Gladly Scott does so, and manages to glare Stiles into helping, though that doesn't stop Stiles from complaining. “Christ, you're heavier than you look.”

There’s a burble of laughter from Allison, and Lydia’s head whips around; then again Scott’s surprised too, Allison hasn’t exactly been...joyful. But it makes him nearly explode with happiness himself to hear her laughing like that again.

“Thanks,” Scott thought only Stiles had mastered angry sarcasm; though if Jordan really is older than Peter—???—then he'd clearly had the time to practice. They all help Jordan dress and then he and Stiles help Jordan hobble and get into Lydia's car. Jordan kind of collapses into the passenger seat and for a moment Scott thinks he's fallen asleep. But his eyes flutter open again. “Hey Stiles, tell your dad I'm not going to be in for the next few days...” His eyes close once more and his breathing evens out.

“I appreciate all your help today Alpha McCall.” It hurts a little for her not to call him Scott, but he knows now that it might take a while for her to call him that again. Also he knows her words are more for politeness' sake than anything else. “After it's done shall we tell you where the Way is. I think there might be a doorbell sort of function if you needed to contact us when we're there.”

He nods. “Yeah, that'd be great.”

She smiles before climbing into the driver's seat and starting up the car.

The three of them watch as she pulls out onto the byway and heads back towards the lake house. Beside him Stiles shudders a little. “So besides that being freaky as fuck that was interesting.”

“Thank you Stiles,” Allison deadpans, “for stating the obvious.”

Scott just shakes his head at the both of them.

—

 _Good thing_ , Lydia thinks wryly as she labels the last of the boxes to ship to Boston, _we don’t have to worry about furniture._ The house they were moving into already came fully furnished, so all they were shipping were more personal items. Granted they didn’t really need to ship any of their things. In Lydia’s mind it will take much less effort to ship everything instead of hauling it to the Way—located at the edge of town—drag it into the Mound, then move it all back out when it opened to Boston _then_ find a way to move it all from wherever they got dropped off to the house itself. It might cost more to ship, but it’s not like they can’t afford it, and it just means one less thing to think about.

“That the last one?” Jordan’s voice breaks her train of thought and makes her jump.

“Erwann,” she chides—she’s finding it easier and easier to use his true name—taking a deep breath to calm herself. “Don’t _do_ that. And yes.”

He at least blushes. “Sorry.” Crouching down he lifts the box up.

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” she deadpans, moving so she’s walking ahead of him, getting the door.

“Clearly you’ve been spending too much time around Peter,” he grouses as they descend the stairs.

Laughter escapes her, catching the attention of Peter in the entryway, where he’s sorting boxes. “What did you do Jordan?”

Jordan rolls his eyes as he sets down the box, while Lydia skips over to Peter and smooches his cheek. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head over.”

His arm snakes around her waist, catching her by surprise. “Handsome,” he corrects. “I’m far too mature to be pretty.”

Jordan grins. “I don’t know, you were-”

“You finish that sentence,” Ethan interrupts, a box of his own in hand. “I’ll definitely do something I’ll regret later.” She steps out of his way and watches him ascend the stairs. Peter had managed to convince him to move in here, instead of spending his money on a hotel.

Peter inclines his head, even if Ethan can’t see it. “I appreciate it Ethan.”

“What’d I miss?” Danny asks as he carries in yet another box. She’d have thought Ethan would have less stuff than this, considering his nomadic lifestyle.

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Nothing important. Just Peter and Jordan flirting.”

Before Danny can reply Peter’s attention focuses forward. “The delivery van’s here.”

Which sets all of them off in a flurry of activity. It feels like it’s over before it’s really begun, and they’re watching most of their earthly possessions get taken away, not to be seen again until after they move in. Meaning the only thing Lydia has to worry about is the going away party tonight. Despite her love of parties, this is one Lydia finds she’d happily skip. But Kira and Malia pulled a double whammy on her and well, she does feel kind of bad for ignoring them recently, so she’d agreed.

That was tonight. Right now...she loops her hands through Peter’s and Jordan’s arms. “Lets go be lazy on the dock.” She’s drawing a line at sex. Bad enough Vee interrupted them during foreplay the other week. She’d rather not have the same happen with Danny or Ethan thank you very much.

It feels like forever since they’ve had time to themselves to just relax, healthy and whole without the threat of something looming over them. The very day Peter admitted Jordan was well enough she’d dragged them to the cemetery, trees in hand, and done the ritual, which had gone off without a hitch this time. There had been something amazing to see the elder tree she’d chosen for Peter grow rapidly as it’s roots spread across the whole cemetery, wiggling their way into every coffin and mausoleum, sucking up the dead-life and storing it for Peter.

Of course, despite actually _knowing_ that, she and Jordan were too afraid to actually test it out, because what if it hadn’t actually worked?

The whole process had felt even stranger being on the receiving end of it for herself. Feeling that hoard of life just sitting there, but not being able to _use_ it. She’d asked Jordan about it that night and he’d looked at her, kind of surprised. His surprise did make a certain amount of sense though. After all he’d been born to function like this, while she’d basically square-peg-round-holed it for Peter and her. Now Lydia feels she can breath easy, knowing they’re all as safe as she can make them, and she intends to enjoy it.

By the time they come back inside they’re all dripping wet, and laughing and teasing each other, they rush up to their bedroom to shower—which takes far longer than it should thanks to Jordan.

When she gets back downstairs Malia, Kira, and Scott are already there to help set up. She may have agreed to the party but she’d insisted it happen here at the lake house, because at the very least then no one had to worry about disturbing anyone besides the neighbors. Then Mason—and a nervous looking Brett—arrive with the food. She’d given Seph and Vee the ‘day off’ so no home-cooked food today. Soon to be followed by Liam and Stiles, with Danny and Ethan—with Peter and Jordan practically in tow—coming down the stairs barely a minute later.

The party itself is a mixed bag for Lydia. On the one hand it’s great to catch up with the people she hasn’t talked to in a while—Mason, Malia, and Danny really, with some Kira on the side—on the other things still feel somewhat strained with Stiles and Scott. Although Lydia has the feeling that’s not going to go away anytime soon, especially with how the two of them still stiffen a little everytime they see Peter, who’s sticking to the edges of the party.

Just when it feels like she’s finally getting into the swing of it the party’s over, and people are taking leftovers and heading home. After what feels like only minutes after that she, Jordan, and Peter are falling into bed together, becoming an all too comfortable tangle of limbs that lulls Lydia into sleep.

*

There’s a crispness to the air in Boston that’s not quite present in California, a promise of fall that has Lydia smiling as she watches Peter hail a cab. After loading up their luggage they pile in and Jordan gives the address. The keys to the house are cool in Lydia’s hand, and she feels a building excitement in her. She loops her arms around Jordan and Peter’s. “I have a good feeling about this.”

Jordan smiles and Peter gives a soft chuckle. “I hope that good feeling extends to me finding something to do.” While Jordan’s said he’s more than willing to stay at home, she know Peter would much rather _do_ something.

She squeezes his arm. “You didn’t like mother’s suggestion of taking over the library?” She’d thought it was a great idea.

“Mmm no, I liked it. I also feel it’s a job I could get lost in, literally and metaphorically.”

“If you like,” Jordan says. “Lydia or I could come get you at whatever time we agree on. Or maybe Vee, since she’s back at court now.”

Peter stares out the window. “True. I’ll think some more about it.”

A minute or two of silence later they’re pulling up to the house, much quicker than Lydia expected actually. It’s a Queen Anne style house. Painted a pleasant yellow color, and at three stories is far more space than even Lydia thought they’d need, but she found herself liking it all the same. Granted it does feel strange hauling her suitcase up to the front door, although she’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because here the whispers of the dead are so faint—though she hopes that’s only because she’s not used to listening to them and not an indicator of anything else. Or maybe it’s just because this feels like a new stage in her life.

One that she hopes is less fraught with danger than the last, although she hopes it’s just as interesting.

Unlocking the front door they step into the entryway, with it’s simple but grand staircase and warm wood floors. Letting go of her suitcase she wanders further in, through the living room, dining room, kitchen, and another seating area. The size of the house is still daunting, but she thinks she’s up to the challenge. Peter and Jordan join her as she climbs up the stairs, taking each step quickly until they’re all running up the stairs for no real reason other than they can. They burst into the upper floor, with it’s odd angle ceilings and little nooks and Lydia finds herself giggling as they collapse into a pile on the carpet.

“This could be home,” she says to the ceiling, to the both of them.

Peter settles in closer to her, his arm falling over her to reach Jordan. “I can live with that.”

She feels Jordan press a kiss to her ear as he also reaches out. “As long as I’m with the both of you anywhere is home.”

Peter and her share a look and then turn on Jordan. He’s clearly being far too cheesy after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Week: Epilogue - the Wild Hunt.
> 
> Also if you're curious about the house they're moving into, you can find lots of photos of it [here.](http://rg-homes.com/listing/71836087/25-everett-street-concord-ma/)


	43. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 428 pages, 283,784 words, and I'm finally finished.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading. And special thanks to Jaz, Britta and Steph for supporting me and helping out from time to time, and most certainly Elle, who is a wonderful person and an even better beta/idea sharer.

In general quite Erwann, Peter, and Lydia make their way towards the nearest Way into Winter. Around them children race excitedly from house to house, eager to get as much candy as they can. Watching them makes Erwann's lips twitch in a smile, wondering what Halloween will be like with their own daughter. As if sensing his train of thought Lydia reaches out and squeezes his hand, a few soft curls framing her smiling face. “Everything alright Erwann?” Even though Peter's in front of them both, Erwann can tell that the other man is playing close attention to the conversation.

“Yeah, just wondering about what this will be like with the baby.” Even though they know her sex they haven't yet agreed on a name. They've got about four more months to figure it out.

“Interesting, I dare say,” Peter's voice drifts back to them. Silently Erwann agrees, especially since they have no idea _what_ the baby might be: a werewolf like Peter? Fae like Lydia and himself? Something completely new?

Their arrival at the park ends the conversation, and, after Erwann weaves a glamour around them to remain unseen, they make their way towards a cairn of rocks hidden away in a copse of trees. Lydia pricks her finger and smears the few drops of blood that makes on the central rock. “If you could let us in mother,” she says to the air.

Seconds later the stones shiver and begin to roll away from each other, until they’re met with a doorway. Lydia glances at him and Peter, and Erwann makes a gesture. “After you.”

Rolling her shoulders, which makes the fabric of her indigo jacket ripple, she steps in, with him and Peter following shortly thereafter, the door closing up behind them. Their travel through the inbetween is longer than it has been with other Ways, though this one is more ‘out of the way’ and rarely used, so for Erwann at least it makes sense. Eventually they reach the entryway, which is festooned with it’s own variation of Halloween decorations: Jack-o’-lanterns—of the more traditional turnip and mangold varieties—litter every surface, their inner lights flickering fitfully in unfelt winds. Wreaths of autumnal leaves woven in with asphodel flowers grace the walls, joined by streamers of colored paper.

“This is certainly more than I expected,” Peter comments, as they follow the marked path towards the throne room.

Erwann holds back a snort. “It used to be the Dark court’s festival, when they took over from the Light. The queen decided she could take over the Hunt portion of the feast when her mother’s court fell.” He remembers the feasts before that though, and while these are good facsimiles, he finds they are lacking something that he thinks only the Dark court could truly give it. The fae take it in stride and have adapted quite well considering.

Then they’re passing through the doors to the throne room, while it’s full bursting with fae, it's not the overwhelming numbers one encountered during the solstices. The Wild Hunt is voluntary, and those of gentler persuasions usually choose to abstain. Besides people there are also hundreds of horses wandering the room, every once in a while one stopping a someone and choosing them for their rider. Despite the early hour some people are already on their mounts.

It’s decorations have changed as well, while some of the ice sculptures remain, most have been replaced by bonfires, which provide most of the light as well, creating a ghoulish, flickering, cast over everything. There is still some of the Mound’s ambient light as well, enough to see by so no one crashed into anything and could see whom they were speaking to.

Barely a few seconds after they arrive Morana is there, smiling lightly at them. Dressed in a nearly black leather coat that’s practically a dress in his eyes—though he bets Lydia could tell him exactly what it was and how it’s different from either of those things. “Good evening to you all.” She leans down and kisses Lydia's cheek. “It is wonderful to see you darling. You are looking wonderful.” She offers an elbow to Lydia, “Come. There are some folk I wish you to meet. Then we shall get you a mount.”

Giving him and Peter a bemused smile Lydia accepts the elbow. “I'll see you two later alright?”

Peter nods,. “Yes. At the very least when we head out.” They still had a good long while until the sun truly set after all.

“Have fun,” Erwann says before leaning down to peck her cheek.

With that the queen sweeps Lydia away into the crowd. Leaving him and Peter on their own.

“Well,” Peter says. “What now?” He bumps Erwann’s shoulder with his own.

Erwann lets loose his snort this time. “Why don’t we get something to drink. Maybe we’ll find Vee.” He knows she’s participated in Hunts before, so it’s not too much of a stretch to expect she’ll be in this one.

He jumps a little in surprise when Peter takes his arm. “Alright, lead the way then.” He says it graciously, but the arch of his eyebrow has Erwann sniggering.

While there aren’t as many tables as usual thanks to the bonfires, there are still many littered about, just as laden with food and drink as the last time. They both pick up cups of mulled cider, one of Erwann’s favorite fall treats, and Erwann also picks up an apple tart to nibble on. Not that he enjoys his food and drink for long, not after he spots an all too familiar flash of red and black. He freezes for a second, his mind not believing what he might have actually just seen, then finds himself moving with dreamlike slowness as he sets down his glass and plate. “Erwann?” Peter’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far off as he steps away from the other man.

Heedless of Peter's calls Erwann pushes his way deeper into the crowd, _no, it can't be_. Vlad would have told him if Yvonne had awoken. It couldn't possibly be her.

Now that he's looking for it he sees nearly-black hair everywhere, frustrating him to no end. Yet still, something in him thrums the farther into the crowd he goes. Most of the women are dressed as Lydia is in riding smocks and habits from older ages, some even still wearing dresses. Yet he knows Yvonne won't be. She always preferred a more masculine look. Eventually he finds himself in an all too familiar gap in the crowd, one that follows his sister everywhere, even those of her own court fearful of touching her.

_Yvonne._

Unafraid, yet fearful, Erwann steps towards her drinking in her appearance: her nearly-black hair held back from her face by a band of red roses, her black pants, creamy blouse, an all too familiar rapier strapped to her waist. Before he even realizes it he's hugging her. Squeezing her tighter than she'd probably like, but at the moment he doesn't care. She smells strongly of roses and he inhales the scent greedily. “I missed you, so much.”

Almost hesitantly her arms reciprocate. “Erwann, brother,” despite her physical hesitance, her voice is warm. “I have missed you also these past centuries.” Her low voice seems to echo in his head, bringing forth a whole host of memories he's long ignored.

Blinking back tears he pulls away. “How? Why didn't you try to contact me?” He's far more grateful than he could have imagined that she's alive and well once more. There's hurt there as well.

A smile cracks her mouth, “Poor root, I can't imagine what it was like for you.” One of her red-gloved hands moves to cup his cheek. “As for why I didn't contact you, my current cognizant state is only recent, of this past week. Before then, I had left the eternal ring of death I had caught myself in true, but I was still not truly aware of myself.” Teeth flash. “And I wished to surprise you.”

Her through and through. But his eyes still narrow. “You still haven't explained how.”

Yvonne huffs. “Always questioning, dear root. Well since you insist on knowing: sometime recently something, hmmm, 'bumped' into me for lack of a better term, enough to snap the spell lingering on me. Even more recently than that my lord husband spilled blood upon me, giving me new life.” Both her arms spread out, widening the empty circle around them. “Now here I stand, alive and well.”

Her words make the gears of his mind churn, until he finds himself resting his head on her shoulder to keep from laughing. “Oh stars, it was us.”

Her hands move to his shoulders and push him away. “‘Us’, root?”

It hits him then that she’s missed _five hundred_ years of his life, and of the world. He doesn’t doubt Queen Asha has brought Yvonne up to speed regarding a lot of things, but he’s also going to guess that’s not the case with details. Fighting back a blush he explains, “I’m with...two people now, Lydia and Peter. The princess of my court, and a mortal werewolf.” Not so mortal anymore thanks to Lydia. “We, ah, must have done something when I first showed them myself.” Now he can’t help but blush as he recalls that time, how it had felt to be inside Lydia at the exact time Peter had been, how much pleasure had passed between them both before and after.

“Well, well, root.” She gives him one of her real smiles this time. “I had not expected that of you.” She leans in and kisses his cheek. “There will have to be introductions later. For how important they must be to you to show yourself like that?” She steps away, and absentmindedly straightens her gloves. “For now I must leave you root. I have my own things which have long lain fallow to see to.”

He nods, despite wanting to never leave her side again. “Will you ride with us?”

If she’s caught off guard by the suggestion it hardly shows. “Of course,” she kisses his cheek again. “I would never think to refuse you root. Not after all this time apart.” Then she leaves him, her gait sure as she walks, the crowd parting and rejoining around her. As if she were a shark and everyone else a minnow. It breaks his heart a little to see her go, but it barely makes a dent in the joy he feels at her return.

Something warm noses at his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. Turning he sees a steel gray horse, already kitted out with bridle and saddle, the former bedecked with the traditional silver bells, long associated with the fae. He gives it a faint smile. “Hello, are you choosing me then?”

The horse bobs her, easy enough to tell with a quick glance, head. Reaching out he grabs the reins to lead her by, though he knows she’s smart enough to follow him of her own accord, not really needing any guidance from him. “Lets go find my lovers then, Hm?”

One of her silver-shod hooves tings against the stone as she bobs her head again. Good enough for him.

—

Peter watches Erwann hare off, a small knot of fear forming in his belly. He moves to follow, but loose him quickly, and there’s too much smoke in the air for him to track accurately. Realizing his current direction has him headed straight for a bonfire he corrects course, except there are bonfires everywhere. He’d thought he’d be able to handle it, despite not being told—granted he should have known, bonfires were traditional in Celtic Halloween festivals—but it’s straining him, his wolf trying to push the boundaries and come further forward that Peter wants it to at the moment. Unwilling to let impulse and fear control him.

“Hale?” Vee’s familiar voice mostly snaps him from his panic, though it’s still there lingering around the edges.

He gives a doglike shake of his head which, despite looking ridiculous, clears his head some. “I’m...doing better.” He might be able to lie, but it feels...impolite to do it around the fae.

Vee snorts, hardly dismissive, but clearly disbelieving. “Come on,” she wraps her hand around his arm, acting as if they’re just going for a stroll instead of her dragging him somewhere. He lets it happen though, because the alternative is him having some sort of panic attack amongst people who see him as the Duke of Beacon Hills, and the princess’ consort besides. He knows full well that image is everything.

She doesn’t take him out of the throne room like he expected, just to an out of the way corner of it. The air here’s just a smokey, but it’s more tolerable. “Stay,” she all but commands. He nearly snaps out that he’s not a dog, except Vee’s already gone. Only to return a few minutes later, Lydia in tow. “I’ll make sure no one disturbs you,” Vee says, taking a stance a few feet away. “Except maybe Erwann.”

Peter doesn’t care, letting himself focus instead on Lydia, her scent, he concern in her eyes she kneels next to him, the swell of her belly from a child he possibly helped create. “Peter?”

“The bonfires.” He’s starting to get used to them now. He knows Lydia will understand his meaning. He might not have the memories anymore, but fear runs deeper than that.

Lydia doesn’t say anything, but she does move closer, her hands coming up and encircling his head, pulling it towards her. Until his cheek is resting on the curve of her breast, and despite everything he sniggers. Earning him an ear tweak as he inhales her oleander and winter scent, gladly letting it chase away the smells of fire.

“Do you think you’ll be alright, or do you want us to find Erwann and leave?” He likes that she says it in such a way that doesn’t make him feel like he’s ruining the whole thing if he says he wants to leave.

He takes a few more breaths, wraps an arm around her, while his other hand rests on the swell of her belly. “I think I’ll be alright now.”

She scratches her nails through his hair and he gives a pleased hum. “If you say so. If it starts happening again, you find one of us okay?”

Nodding he pulls away from her enough to lean in and kiss her, when he pulls away he’s smiling. “Go, I’m sure you didn’t leave your mother under the most graceful of circumstances.”

Her own lips twitch in a smile, and she huffs with laughter. “No, but she also wasn’t going to let me deny one of my retinue help.” She darts in and kisses the tip of his nose. “I’ll see you later alright?”

Again he nods, this time standing and offering a hand to Lydia. She takes it and he easily hauls her upright. She smiles at him again before walking off, leaving only him and Vee. Slipping his hands into his pockets—Lydia and Erwann may have dressed up, but he’d rather not ruin his clothes if possible—he goes up to her. “Your help was gratefully accepted.”

Vee gives a deft nod, “I only did what I am obligated to do. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I do believe I see the man attempting to court me.” He blinks in surprise as she walks off, not expecting that at all. Did Lydia know? That train of thoughts helps distract him as he rejoins the crush of people. While he doesn’t go out of his way to avoid the bonfires, he does do his best to steer clear of them. The fae surrounding him seem more than happy to distract him, pulling him into conversations and oh so subtly attempting to gain his favor or get him in their debt. It forces his mind to focus, otherwise who knows how badly he’ll slip.

Extracting himself from yet another conversation he retreats towards the outskirts of the crowd, giving a respectful nod to one of the faewolves as he passes. Much to his surprise the supposedly empty section of wall he’d picked isn’t so empty. A good sized pack of dogs greeting him when he pushes through the last of the people. They remind Peter a little of wolfhounds, though their coloring—mostly white with red ears—is off. Regardless they are impressive beasts, Peter's not afraid of them but he decides he should steer well clear.

Until one of them trots up to him. He—even if Peter couldn't smell it he can damn well _see_ it—smells of loam and blood, a smell that reminds Peter of running through the woods on a full moon and hunting down deer with his family. The hound sniffs at Peter's hand, then pushes his head under it to try and force Peter to pet him. Which isn't the reaction Peter expected. With a happy _wuff_ the hound flops to the ground at Peter's feet. As if that sound was a sign of some sort the other dogs start heading his way in singles and pairs, until he's completely surrounded. Strangely being surrounded by them seems to take away the lingering fear over the bonfires.

A sound that can only be considered amused has him turning to see Morana on her silvery gray horse, tiny silver bells on it's harness tinkling as the horse bobs it's head. “I see the hounds have found you. I will admit I thought occasionally on what might happen, they have been looking for an Alpha for some time. Though I dare say you can try and refuse them if you so choose.”

He looks back down at the hounds, some of which are barely out of puppyhood, a little amazed. In the eyes of his fellow wolves having only Ethan and Derek barely makes him an Alpha—not that he cares for their opinions—and while a pack of dogs isn't exactly a few werewolves asking for succor and sanctuary, they are still choosing him. “Permanently? Or for the Hunt?”

Morana's gaze turns assessing. “I believe we shall find out tonight.” She nudges her horse away, they jingle as they leave.

Seeing as he's stuck with them for the time being he sits, and lets himself be overwhelmed by dogs.

—

From his seat on his steed Erwann can barely contain the twitch of his lips at the sight of Peter being surrounded by hounds. It's a...sweet sight, one that makes Erwann want to know how Peter will be with their child.

Speaking of, he turns when he hears the silvery jingle of harness from another horse. It’s Lydia, her clothes not doing much to disguise her now obvious pregnant state. A protective part of him wants to protest her riding, but he's seen women far more pregnant than her ride in the Hunt to no ill effect, raising a fuss about her will serve no purpose except to draw attention to them. She's smiling as she looks at Peter. “I don't know if I want to take a picture or join him.”

Erwann feels his own lips twitch in response. “You could easily do both, well, as long as you brought a camera.”

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Considering the amount of power floating about I decided to spare my phone the hassle.” With surprising ease she nudges her horse closer to him. She flicks her reins at him and he instinctively catches them. “I think I'll join him though, watch my horse.” Her eyelashes flutter in an exaggerated manner and he bites back a laugh.

“Sure, since I've got nothing better to do.” His tone is only a little sarcastic. He truly doesn't have anything better to do, the Hunt won't start until sunset, but until then it's a lot of hurrying up and waiting.

Lydia blows him a kiss as she walks towards Peter.

—

The dogs flow around her like water as she walks through them, they bark excitedly at her as they move, nuzzling and rubbing against her. Peter almost smiles as she moves to sit next to him. “They like you,” he says as hunches down beside her. She holds her hands out and the dogs start licking her hands and trying to get her to pet them. She gives a light laugh and gives into them, using her nails to give a deep scratch to the two in front of her. One flops onto her lap, tail wagging and tongue lolling. It noses at her belly before giving a low _woof_ that has even more dogs start to mill around her.

Before she can even open her mouth to ask what is going on she realizes everyone is starting to fall silent. She thinks it's because the Hunt might be starting, though there's still a bit of daylight left, but then she realizes it's because another rider's appeared.

Which doesn't feel like an occurrence to warrant silence, plenty of other riders have joined and no one's fallen silent for them. She moves to start standing up but Peter stops her. “Wait a moment.” She settles back down. The hounds circle a little closer.

The horse is mostly black, with a startling white rump, it's black tail and mane have been braided with bloody red roses. There isn't any saddle or bridle, but that doesn't seem to bother the woman riding it. The woman in question is stunning, and vaguely familiar, her blue-black hair falls in a straight sheet to the small of her back, held back with a headband of red roses. Despite the fact she's wearing dark leather pants she's sitting side saddle. Unlike everyone else though her shirt isn't dark, but a pale creamy color. Hands encased in bloody red gloves rest near a rapier with a golden basket hilt.

Finally a murmur goes through the crowd. _'Yvonne.'_

Lydia lets herself gape, this isn't the mostly-dead woman she remembers from the coffin. She shares a glance with Peter. Then they both look back at Yvonne, who's headed towards them, crowd parting around her like the Red Sea. This time when Lydia starts to stand, she’s not going to meet her...sister-in-law...sitting down, she bats away Peter's attempt to get her to sit back down.

Yvonne stops her horse at the edge of the pack and effortlessly slides down, landing lightly on bare feet. The hounds part as she heads towards the center. She stops a few feet away and give the crispest, most precise bow Lydia has ever seen. Her face is expressionless as she straightens. “Erwann tells me you both are also to thank for my resurrection.” She bows again, and Lydia tries to hold in her surprise at the low, ringing quality of her voice. “Your help is appreciated Your Highness, Your Grace.”

Once more she straightens, and Lydia doesn't know if she should bow in return, or curtsy, or what. Though it stood to reason she didn't have to give any sort of action at all, Lydia after all is a princess, and Yvonne only a knight. “It was no trouble at all Sir Yvonne.” And didn't that feel a little strange saying? “Though it is good to truly meet you at last.”

“Indeed,” Yvonne's pale green—the same shade as Erwann's and the only real sign that they're siblings—eyes cut to a hound that steps a little closer to her than the others. “Step away or I shall touch you.”

The hound does, and Lydia throws out a hand to touch Peter's arm before he can do anything more than rumble in warning. “What sort of punishment is your touch Yvonne?”

Yvonne tilts her head slightly, her blue-black hair cascading to that same side. “I am Death-in-Life Your Highness. My touch exemplifies that.”

“What about you and your husband?” It escapes Lydia before she can really help herself.

All Yvonne does though is throw her head back and laugh, a dry rattling laugh that reminds Lydia of bones hitting each other. The few fae that are near them step back at the sound, clearly unnerved. A hint of a smile lingers around Yvonne's lips. “Vlad has been dead these past six hundred years, beheaded by the Turks. He would be here but after that, riding disagrees with him.” It takes Lydia a moment to realize Yvonne's _joking_. “To answer your question, yes we copulate and share affection, though we are both as barren as the deserts our queen loves.” She glances at Lydia' swollen belly. “Though I think you shall give me more than enough niblings to make up for that.”

Lydia flushes. Before she can respond a horn blows, starting up a flurry of activity. Yvonne takes a step back, “it seems the hunt is to begin. Erwann has asked me to ride with you, but I believe to start I shall let you alone. I shall met up with you later.” Without waiting for a response from Lydia, Yvonne turns around and goes back to her horse, swinging up upon it in a movement Lydia finds herself jealous off.

She starts a little when she feels Peter's heat press close to her. “Shall we go find Erwann and your horse as well?”

“Yes.” Peter would probably be able to tell if she nodded, but a verbal response feels better. Since he's the one with the super senses she gestures for him to go first, barely even batting an eyelash when the hounds trot dutifully after him. Contrary to what she'd thought it doesn't take them all that long to find Erwann. She gladly accepts Peter's help in mounting her own horse again. While the hounds might not have phased her, Peter's clothes suddenly ending up in her lap does. Looking down she sees that he's already halfway through shifting to his Alpha form. _Oh_ , no wonder he hadn't attempted to find a horse of his own.

Once again the horn sounds and the riders begin filling out, Erwann gives her and encouraging smile and lightly kicks his own horse into action. Since she's still not used to riding a horse herself she gingerly does the same. Grateful when it begins to follow Erwann's without complaint. Even over the sound of so many horses and bodies moving she still catches the sound of Peter's claws against the stone floor as he follows her.

The main doors of the hall have been thrown open, leading down a straight shot to the entrance, whose doors are also open. Open, not to a pasture, or any sort of land Lydia recognizes as they get closer, but seemingly empty air, full of glittering stars. Blind panic fills Lydia, and she looks around to see if anyone else notices, but everyone around her is actually speeding up. Her own horse follows the lead, and despite Lydia’s best efforts won’t slow down. “Erwann!” It’s not quite a scream, but it is a little desperate.

His head whips around, and and without seeming to put forth any sort of effort his horse sidesteps so that it’s side by side with her’s. His gloved hand reaches out and takes one of hers. “Lydia.” They’re even closer to the entrance now. “Take a deep breath, everything’s happening the way it should.” Which makes her brain feel better, but well, her hindbrain doesn’t quite understand the message.

Then they’re racing out the doors, and Lydia feels both bewildered and elated when they don’t fall, but keep going forward. She looks down, and sees lights from a village about fifty or so feet below them. Een though there shouldn’t be any sound from her horse’s hooves, thunder seems to fill the air. A confused growl has her whipping her head around to her other side, where Peter’s staring intently at the ‘empty’ air that supports them, his dark brown and gray hackles up and his blue eyes narrowed. Behind him run the hounds, their eyes glowing white in the darkness.

“It’s alright,” Erwann says, as some of the more eager riders ride past them. “It’s the magic of the Hunt.”

He looks like he’s going to explain more, except the horns call again, and the hounds around Peter bay excitedly, the sound strangely reminding her of geese. All around them that same excitement is mimicked with the rest of the riders, and everyone seems to surge forward. “We’ve got the first prey of the night,” Erwann explains. “Come on!”

Lydia finds the excitement infectious, and moments later when Peter throws his head back and howls she finds herself joining him, urging her horse faster. Her howl shifts into wild laughter as they race across the sky.

*

At dawn they return to the Mound.

Despite the fact she’d been exhilarated and _alive_ throughout the whole Hunt, the moment her feet touch the ground a deep tiredness fills her. She sways and nearly falls, except Peter catches her in time. “Lydia?”

“Mmmmfine, tired.” She nestles her face into the warm smoothness of his bare chest.

Next to her Erwann gives a jaw cracking yawn. “Bed for all of us I think.” Lydia couldn’t agree more.

She gives only the barest murmur of protest when Peter scoops her up, happily burying her face in his neck and breathing him in. In their rooms she sighs when Peter slides her under the covers, but finds herself frowning when something smallish and heavy settles itself across her feet. She forces her eyes to open as she listens to Erwann and Peter get Erwann out of his armor, and sees one of the hounds from earlier, looking at her with soulful brown eyes.

Seconds later Peter’s crawling over her. “She followed me home Lydia,” he bats his eyelashes in an exaggerated manner. “Can I keep her?”

Despite feeling tired down to her very bones Lydia manages a laugh, snuggling close to him to make room for Erwann behind her. “Sleep,” she answers instead, closing her eyes again as the light around them dims.

After exchanging soft “good nights,” Lydia finally lets sleep claim her.

 _Lydia dreams she's in a nest of shadows. They're all around her, and as she moves to brush some aside she's taken aback by the fact they're solid things and not...well..._ shadows _. The feel of them against her skin as she pushes more aside is soft and feathery, cool, almost ticklish._ _However they put up no resistance as she moves through them towards some destination she's unaware of. On and on, unrelenting black. Until there isn't._

 _Before her is a bed of shadows, and on it there's a shadow shaped like a woman. Her hand reaches out to touch the shadow, but a second after she's touched it her hand recoils, it's not a shadow at all. It's actually a_ woman _, Lydia's hand darts out again to touch the warm flesh._ _Undisturbed the woman sleeps. Lydia's hand pushes the woman rolling her onto her back, still she sleeps, an arm looking like it might be tangled up in hair the same shade as her skin. Lydia's other hand rises up and part of Lydia flinches when she sees a dagger clutched in it. Plain and boring, but still sharp and deadly._

_Inexorably the dagger moves towards the woman, no matter what Lydia tries she can't stop her hand. Tears stream down her face as she drives the dagger into the woman's chest._ _That gets a reaction from the woman, she arches and eyes the color of fire fly open. Blood pours from the wound as those eyes, that flicker and change like real flame, focus on Lydia. The woman's mouth opens and a scream of triumph erupts from it shocking Lydia and letting her release the knife and jump back._

_The woman falls limp, and Lydia's suddenly watching a timelapse as the body rapidly begins to decompose, until before she knows it there are only bones on the bed._ _And even those don't remain for long. Bursting into merry flames that leave Lydia gaping._

_The flames themselves die down but the light produced by them somehow stays, revealing two eggs nestled in the shadows, one white, one black. On impulse Lydia reaches out and snatches them up. Cradling them to her chest for the briefest of moments before they somehow fly out of her grasp and into the air. She herself begins falling, falling, falling._

Lydia breaks the surface of the water gasping. For a few seconds she looks wildly around, mind not catching up as fast as her eyes. It rapidly calms though when she realizes she's in the Heart of Winter. She doesn't bother to wonder how she got here, only hopes her sudden vanishing act didn't wake Erwann or Peter as she paddles to the shore. As she steps into the snow she automatically finds herself reaching out to the dead, eagerly listening in on their whispers.

_'Phoenix dies, phoenix rise.'_

_'She did it! Accident and luck and chance. The world changes.'_

_'I_ always _knew she'd do it.'_

_'And there will fire in her belly in time, the wheel's turning a-right once more.'_

And so on and so on. Lydia frowns though, she thinks she knows what they're talking about, but the more she tries to think about it the more it slips away. Until she can't remember what happened at all. On shaky legs she rises, using the wall to support herself as she starts climbing up the stairs and passes through the tunnel. When she steps out through the door, it’s to find the door to their suite of rooms right across from her. After letting herself have a second of dumb surprise Lydia reaches out again and tightly pats the wall. “Thanks.”

The light around her pulses softly as she crosses over and opens the door. The barest amount of light needed to see greets her eyes. Granted she’s half-certain she could wander their rooms in the dark and not bump into anything. Eagerly she makes her way towards the bedroom door, grateful that she’s not sopping wet, or wet at all actually, from her recent dip.

It opens soundlessly at her touch and inside the room she finds Peter and Erwann, still fast asleep and curled around each other. The hound that followed them is curled up at the foot of the bed, raising her head slightly to look at Lydia, then lowering it. Eyes closing once more in sleep. On silent feet she pads over to the bed and gingerly climbs in, not wanting to disturb either man. Since she can’t take her usual place between them she settles in on top of them, probably sometime in the night they’ll move around and she’ll end up in a more comfortable position. Despite their positions she feels safe and warm. “I love you both,” she says quietly as she closes her eyes and snuggles in.

“MmmI love you too,” Erwann mutter sleepily. “...And Peter.”

Warm hands wrap around her from both sides and she finds herself being pulled in.

Peter’s chest rumbles in a purr. “I love you both as well, now sleep.” He sounds annoyed, though it’s definitely affectionate.

Lydia gives a contented sigh as they surround her. “We should name her Laura,” despite not wanting to wake them up, and Peter’s insistence that they sleep, she wants them to agree to this now.

Erwann’s lips press against her shoulder. “I like it.”

Forcing her eyes open again she looks at Peter, there’s barely enough light to see him, but she can still hear the way his breath hitches. Then his face is _right there_ and he’s nuzzling her cheek and hair, his arms dragging her almost painfully tight against him. “Thank you.”

Overflowing with love she kisses his cheek and settles herself back against Jordan, closing her eyes and letting sleep claim her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are folks, The End.
> 
> Will there be a sequel? ...Eventually. I _do_ have one planned, but I want to work on other things for a while before trying to tackle it (especially since it's taking place 30 years in the future). There _will_ however be a little winter/Christmas fic out in December sometime *Crosses fingers that she gets it done in time...*
> 
> As for my next big project...well you'll just have to wait until Halloween to find out what it is. But I'll bet if you follow my writing Tumblr, I'll complain about it from time to time, and probably post teasers. (and I'll also probably be posting some WK bonus stuff as well, scenes I didn't go with, or changed, etc.) ~~shameless plug is shameless~~
> 
> And in the meantime I'll hopefully post a few shorter fic for you all to enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> Come join your fellow shippers at [We Conquer Death](http://weconquerdeath.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
